FOOLS 
OF 

NHTURE 


ALICE  •  BROWN 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


FOOLS   OF   NATURE 


For  the  action  of  these  influences  is  from  a  property  the  principles  of 
whose  origin  we  cannot  comprehend.  —  GALEN. 

No  superstition  can  ever  be  prevalent  and  widely  diffused  through  ages  and 
nations,  without  having  a  foundation  in  human  nature.  —  ScHLEGKL. 

And  hence  in  most  cases  of  superstition  .  .  .  those  who  find  pleasure  in 
such  kind  of  vanities,  always  observe  where  the  event  answers,  but  slight 
and  pass  by  the  instances  where  it  fails.  —  BACON. 


FOOLS   OF   NATURE 


Nobel 


BY 


ALICE   BROWN 


BOSTON 
TICKNOR    AND     COMPANY 

211  Cronont  Street 
1887 


Copyright,  1887, 

BY   TlCKNOR   AND   COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved. 


Printed  by  Addison  C.  Getchell,  55  Oliver  St.,  Boston. 


CONTENTS, 


CHAl'TKR. 

I.  A  PRIZE      .... 

II.  THE  PROFESSOR  ARKIVKS 

III.  THE  INITIAL  STEP     . 

IV.  AT  Miss  PHEBE'S 

V.  TAKING  A  PLUNGE    . 

VI.  LAYING  A  TRAIN 

VII.  REVELATIONS 

VIII.  BURNING  His  BOATS 

IX.  A  HIGHER  COURT 

X.  NEWS  FROM  COVENTRY 

XI.  A  VERDICT 

XII.  SPRING        . 

XIII.  A  NEW  DEPARTURE 

XIV.  IN  TOWN     . 

XV.  LlNORA          . 

XVI.  AN  UNEXPECTED  CHECK 

XVII.  OUTSIDE  AND  IN 

XVIII.  A  FLAW     . 

XIX.  IN  EXILE   .... 

XX.  FROM  DAY  TO  DAY   . 

XXI.  PROGRESS    . 

XXII.  A  MESSAGE 

XXIII.  BEYOND  RECALL 


PAGE. 

7 

20 

38 

51 

G5 

81 

97 

113 

131 

145 

158 

176 

185 

199 

213 

232 

248 

259 

269 

282 

294 

304 

31G 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER. 

XXIV. 
XXV. 

FOUR  THREADS         .... 
BERNARD  GOES  HOME 

PAGE. 

324 
334 

XXVI. 

THE  ORACLE  SILENT 

344 

XXVII. 
XXVIII. 
XXIX. 
XXX. 
XXXI. 
XXXII. 
XXXIII. 
XXXIV. 

NEMESIS  LOOKS  ABOUT  HER   . 
UNDER  THE  RED  CROSS   . 
PROSPECTIVE  REFORMATION    . 
THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH 
THE  USUAL  RESULT 
LEONARD  SEEKS  REFUGE 
SAM  TO  THE  RESCUE 
AT  HOME    , 

355 

3G2 
376 
381 
389 
403 
412 
424 

FOOLS    OF    NATURE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A   PRIZE. 

A  GRAY  farm-house,  sunken  on  its  sills,  be- 
-*"*•  hind  enormous  chestnut  trees.  Miss  Maria 
frequently  suggested  that  the  chestnuts  should  be 
cut  down,  as  shutting  off  the  light  from  the  south 
side  of  the  house,  and  producing  only  an  abundant 
yearly  crop  of  empty  burrs,  but  her  father  could 
not  bring  himself  to  make  the  sacrifice.  In  busy 
times,  when  no  reasonable  being  could  expect  him 
to  put  off  haying  or  planting  for  cutting  trees,  he 
acquiesced  most  cheerfully  in  his  daughter's  hints  ; 
but  when  the  feasible  opportunity  came,  he  proved 
either  forgetful  or  indolent.  So  the  trees  stood. 

This  was  a  cold  November  night,  or  rather  the 
late  afternoon  merging  into  twilight.  Miss  Maria 
had  the  kettle  on  and  the  table  set,  ready  for  a 
somewhat  later  tea  than  usual.  Her  father  was 
making  one  of  his  frequent  visits  to  the  poor-farm, 

7 


8  FOOLS   OF  NATUKE. 

and  they  were  never  short.  She  had  fritters  to 
fry,  and  they  must  be  light  and  hot.  Therefore 
there  was  nothing  to  do  now  till  she  should  hear 
the  rattle  of  wheels.  The  room  where  she  waited 
was  dark  enough  without  the  help  of  outside  shade  ; 
the  walls  were  low,  the  ceiling  smoky,  and  the  great 
beams  overhead  dingy  with  age.  Still,  everything 
was  so  severely  clean,  from  the  middle-aged  woman 
in  her  starched  calico  and  white  collar  to  the  very 
floor,  that  the  evident  extreme  age  of  the  house 
seemed  no  ruinous,  unkempt  one.  Miss  Maria,  as 
she  stood  by  the  stove,  bearing  her  idleness  a  little 
impatiently,  was  of  a  wiry,  absolutely  alert  Yankee 
type.  Her  crimped  hair,  the  stiff  little  plaid  bow 
at  her  throat,  could  not  soften  her  in  a  line  or  hue. 

Some  one  was  pushing  the  heavy  side  door, 
which  sagged  so  that  even  the  daughter  of  the 
house  could  not  always  force  it  to  obey  her  ener 
getic  will.  She  took  the  lamp  into  the  entry,  as 
the  great  piece  of  timber  swung  in  with  a  sullen 
creak,  to  admit  a  slender,  straight,  girlish  woman 
of  seventy.  Aunt  Lomie  always  insisted  that  her 
figure  was  owing  to  the  early  use  of  the  busk,  and 
it  was  greatly  to  her  mortification  that  her  own 
girls,  long  since  married,  had  declined  to  wear  that 
article  of  torture. 

"  I  brought  you  in  some  of  our  barberry,"  she 
said  in  a  soft,  even  voice,  like  a  skein  of  silk. 
"  We  begun  on  it  to-day.  I  believe  I  put  in  more 


A  PRIZE.  9 

sweet  apple'n  common,  an'  that  made  me  think  of 
your  father." 

"  I'm  sure  I'm  much  obliged,"  said  Miss  Maria, 
tasting  at  once.  "  So'll  father  be.  He  don't  say 
he  don't  take  to  my  sugar  barberry,  but  I'm  awful 
sorry  I  didn't  do  any  in  molasses.  Seemed  as  if 
sugar'd  be  so  much  nicer  that  I  done  it  all  that 
way." 

Aunt  Lomie  had  taken  a  chair  by  the  stove, 
where  she  sat  bolt-upright,  patting  her  knees  softly 
and  reflectively. 

"Where's  your  father?"  she  said,  breaking  the 
silence,  that  was  perfectly  easy,  since  neither  of 
the  two  felt  a  necessity  for  talking. 

"  Gone  to  the  poor-farm,"  returned  Miss  Maria, 
something  aggressive  developing  itself  in  her  tone. 

"He's  all  carried  away  with  that  boy,  ain't 
he?" 

"  Seems  so  ; "  and  Maria  put  all  the  emphasis  of 
her  sentence  into  the  stove  with  an  obstinate  stick 
of  wood. 

"  It  does  seem  a  pity,  Maria,  don't  it,  that  he 
should  be  given  to  such  folderol  ?  " 

After  a  silence,  "Father  can  think  and  do  just 
what  he's  a  mind  to,  for  all  me.  His  ways  ain't 
my  ways ,  but  they're  better'n  mine.  He's  got  more 
goodness  in  his  little  finger  than  all  the  rest  of  the 
town  in  their  whole  body." 

"You  always  would  stand  up  for  your  father," 


10  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

said  Aunt  Lomie,  looking  at  her  with  mild  ap 
proval.  "  Queer  you  should,  too,  when  you  don't 
jine  in  with  him." 

"That  ain't  the  question,"  said  Maria  stoutly. 
"It  ain't  what  I  believe  or  don't  believe.  I  may 
be  too  ungodly  to  believe  it.  Anyway,  I  never 
shall  badger  father's  life  out  of  him.  There  he  is 


now ! " 


Old  Dolly's  hoofs  had  a  peculiar  beat,  and  the 
red  wagon  a  rattle  all  its  own.  Maria's  quick  ears 
caught  both  sounds  before  the  wagon  turned  into 
the  driveway,  where  it  was  now  hurrying  gayly 
along,  hobnobbing  with  the  frozen  ruts. 

"  'Tis  your  father,  sure  enough.  I  guess  I  won't 
wait,  he'd  keep  me  so  long  talking,  and  it's  our 
supper  time,  too." 

When  Miss  Maria  had  closed  the  unwilling  door 
on  her  visitor,  she  hurried  back  to  her  fritters,  all 
alive  at  the  immediate  prospect  of  work.  By  the 
time  Uncle  Ben,  as  he  was  called  by  the  town 
in  general,  had  finished  unharnessing  and  feeding 
Dolly,  and  given  the  cows  their  last  fodder,  the 
table  was  ready,  and  the  lamp  waiting  in  the  little 
back  kitchen  where  he  was  accustomed  to  attend 
to  his  toilet. 

"  Here  we  are.  Mind  the  step  !  "  came  a  voice 
full  of  loving  quality.  "Here  we  are,  Maria  ! "  • 

Maria  had,  so  to  speak,  pricked  up  her  ears  at 
the  sound  of  lighter  steps  beside  her  father's. 


A   PRIZE.  11 

"  I'll  be  buttered  if  he  ain't  brought  the  poor-house 
boy  back  with  him ! "  she  ejaculated  under  her 
breath. 

"  Here's  Lenny,  Maria,"  said  the  old  man,  fairly 
inside  by  this  time.  "  Let  him  run  right  in  and 
warm  him.  His  hands  don't  need  so  much  washin' 
as  they  do  thawin'  out.  We  kep'  'em  under  the 
robe,  but  they're  pretty  cold,  —  pretty  cold  !  " 

Maria,  without  a  word,  preceded  the  boy  to  the 
larger  room,  and,  still  silent,  drew  forward  a  chair. 
The  child,  a  somewhat  shapeless,  stocky  boy,  stood 
still  in  the  background. 

"You  can  sit  down,"  said  his  hostess  ungra 
ciously.  Then  she  went  back  to  her  father.  "Is 
he  going  to  stay  ?  "  The  voice  was  carefully  mod 
ulated.  There  was  neither  displeasure  nor  re 
proach  in  it,  yet  Uncle  Ben  was  quite  well  assured 
that  Maria  was  not  gratified. 

"  Well,  now,  if  he  wouldn't  be  a  great  deal  of 
trouble,  Maria,"  he  began  persuasively,  from  the 
roller  towel.  "Now  really,  Maria,  he's  goin'  to 
be  a  wonderful  medium ;  somethin'  out  o'  the  com 
mon  course,  and  he'll  never  develop  there.  The 
conditions  ain't  right.  An'  he  could  help  about 
the  chores."  But  Maria  had  disappeared,  as  he 
found  on  emerging  from  the  roller.  "  Oh,  well, 
well,  well,"  said  the  old  man.  "Sorry!  sorry! 
Wish  Maria'd  see  these  things,  but  she  don't,  and 
you  can't  expect  everybody  to.  — Willin'  the  old 


12  FOOLS   OP   NATURE. 

man  should  have  his  own  way?"  he  went  on  in 
his  sing-song  manner  of  speaking.  "  You  ain't  said 
much." 

"  I  didn't  have  time  to  wait,"  said  Maria  dryly. 
"  I  had  to  go  in  and  put  on  another  plate." 

Then  the  two  looked  in  each  other's  faces  and 
smiled  the  smile  of  perfect  understanding,  a  mo 
mentary  twinkle  from  Maria  and  a  folding  of 
wrinkles  in  the  old  man's  face,  — for  all  the  seams 
there  had  been  made  by  much  smiling. 

"  Now,  if  you  could  get  a  test  such  as  I've  had 
tune  an'  again,"  he  went  on,  rubbing  his  hands  at 
the  fire,  "  you  might  begin  to  see  your  way  to  hav- 
in'  faith.  An'  with  Lenny  in  the  house  you  may 
get  a  test." 

Miss  Maria  set  her  lips  firmly,  and  went  on 
pouring  the  tea,  having  done  which  she  drew  up 
the  third  chair  for  the  boy,  and  motioned  him  to 
take  it.  He  obeyed  with  a  shiver,  suggesting  a 
young  robin  out  in  the  cold.  Miss  Maria  had 
made  an  impression  on  him. 

No  one  paid  any  attention  to  him  during  the 
meal,  Uncle  Ben  contenting  himself  with  heaping 
the  child's  plate,  once  giving  him  a  pat  on  the  head 
in  passing.  But  when  her  father  had  gone  out  to 
shut  the  barn,  Maria  said  her  say.  She  emphati 
cally  set  down  in  the  sink  the  cups  she  was  carry 
ing,  and  then  placed  herself  directly  opposite  the 
robin,  who  was  again  huddling  over  the  stove. 


A  PRIZE.  13 

She  looked  at  him  steadily,  while  he  as  steadily 
regarded  his  cracked,  stubby  hands. 

"  An'  so  you  see  things  —  spirits  ?  "  said  Miss 
Maria  at  length,  in  a  biting  tone. 

"I  don't  know  what  they  be.  How  should  I 
know  ?  It's  always  a  lady,"  said  the  boy,  begin 
ning  to  whimper  a  little. 

"  And  you're  going  to  get  up  a  test  to  convince 
me,  are  you?"  still  regarding  him  as  curiously 
as  severely. 

"  I  don't  know  what  a  test  is.  I  don't  care  any 
thing  about  it.  I  wisht  I  was  back  to  the  farm  !  " 
said  the  whimperer. 

This  protestation  only  served  to  disgust  Maria 
the  more.  So  he  was  a  hypocrite  also  ! 

"Well,  there's  one  thing  for  you  to  remember. 
Ever  go  to  school  ?  Ever  learn  anything?  Well, 
you  learn  this  !  If  you  take  it  into  your  head  to 
get  up  tests  for  me  I'll  take  your  head  off;  and  if 
you  ever  tell  my  father  a  lie — say  you  see  things 
when  you  don't,  or  say  you've  seen  'em  when  you 
haven't — I'll  take  your  head  off  again.  And 
heads  aint  like  lobster  claws  ;  they  don't  grow  on, 
once  they're  off.  Understand?" 

The  robin  evidently  did  not,  but  he  was  suffi 
ciently  impressed,  Miss  Maria  thought;  and  her 
father  coming  in  just  then,  she  went  on  with  her 
dish-washing. 

"Been   cryin',    sonny?     Homesick?     Oh,    that 


14  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

never'll  do  !  Never  in  the  world  !  Folks  have  to 
make  up  their  minds  to  things.  — Maria,  where's 
that  old  fox-and-geese  board  ?  " 

It  was  in  the  corner  cupboard,  and  Maria  brought 
it  without  a  word.  The  old  man  and  his  little 
friend  began  their  game,  interrupted  only  by  the 
robin's  nervousness.  He  watched  Miss  Maria  too 
incessantly  to  show  much  generalship  in  his  moves, 
and  became  so  distraught  that  Uncle  Ben  sent  him 
to  bed,  going  with  him  to  see  him  comfortably  dis 
posed.  When  the  child  had  drawn  the  great  com 
forters  up  to  his  ears,  looking  as  if  he  felt  himself 
in  safety  for  the  first  time  that  night,  Uncle  Ben 
took  the  candle  and  paused  to  say,  hesitatingly, 
before  leaving  the  room,  "  You  ain't  seen  anything 
since  you've  been  in  the  house,  Lenny?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"Nor  heard  anything?" 

"No." 

"Well,  well,  that's  all  right  I  It'll  come,  all  in 
good  time.  I'll  call  you  in  the  mornin'." 

"Be  you  going  to  keep  him,  father?"  asked 
Miss  Maria,  later  in  the  evening,  looking  up  from 
her  rapid  knitting.  Her  father  had  finished  the 
county  paper,  and  sat  toasting  his  stockinged  feet 
at  the  stove-hearth. 

"  Well,  no  ;  I  ain't  got  so  far  as  that  yet.  No,  I 
do'  know's  I  mean  to  keep  him  on'y  till  he  gets  a 
good  place.  But  I  mean  to  see  he  ain't  starved  as 


A   PRIZE.  15 

he  was  up  country  before  he  come  to  the  farm. 
Skin  an'  bone  he  was ;  but  he  begun  to  pick  up 
right  off." 

"Yes,"  said  Maria  dryly,  "he  don't  seem  to 
have  many  bones  now." 

"  Fatted  right  up  !  I  told  'em  at  the  farm  they'd 
better  have  his  mini'ture  took  an'  send  it  round  to 
show  folks  how  we  treat  our  paupers.  Maria, 
that  boy  begun  to  see  spirits  when  he  wa'n't  more'n 
ten  year  old,  when  he  was  up  country." 

Maria  was  setting  her  heel,  and  bent  over  her 
work  too  closely  to  reply. 

"  He  says  he  always  sees  a  lady, — a  lady  in  a  cap. 
Somehow  I  felt  as  if  it  might  be  your  mother." 

Maria  gave  an  indignant  twitch,  setting  loose 
half  a  dozen  stitches,  but  she  did  not  answer. 

"  The  trouble  is,  she  never  speaks,  —  ain't  spoke 
yet,  that  is,  —  on'y  makes  signs.  But  he'll 
develop  yet,  just  keep  him  where  the  influences 
are  harmonious." 

The  next  morning,  before  breakfast,  Uncle  Ben 
took  the  boy  to  the  barn,  but  once  inside  the  door, 
he  did  not  set  him  a  task.  Putting  down  his  milk- 
pail,  he  turned  to  the  child  eagerly. 

"  Anything  yet,  Lenny  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  boy  in  a  whisper,  looking 
behind  him,  to  see  if  perchance  Maria  might  be 
there. 

"  You  don't  say  so  !     What  ?  " 


16  FOOLS   OP  NATURE. 

"The  woman." 

"Say  anything?  Now  she  did  say  something 
this  time?" 

"No,  she  didn't ;  only  motioned.  Put  both  her 
hands  on  her  head  —  so — and  shook  it  and  cried." 

The  old  man  took  off  his  hat  in  order  to  con 
sider  the  better,  and  stood  with  the  brim  of  it 
over  his  mouth. 

"  Yes,  that's  it !  It's  Aunt  Peggy  ! "  he  cried  at 
last  triumphantly.  "  She  died  with  brain-fever. 
Strange  I  shouldn't  ha'  thought  o'  her  before. 
An'  what  else  ?  " 

"Nothing.  Yes,  there  was.  She  went  to  the 
fire-place  and  kept  putting  her  finger  on  the 
squares  marked  out  on  the  mantel-piece.  She'd 
count  up  to  seven  and  then  stop,  and  go  over  'em 
again." 

"  Seven !  Now  I  wonder  what  that  meant. 
Seven  year?  No,  she  must  ha'  died  over  forty 
year  ago.  Maria  wouldn't  remember.  Seven  in 
the  family?  No,  there  was  three.  Sure  it  was 
seven,  Lenny?" 

"  Course  I  am,"  said  the  boy,  a  little  fretfully. 
"  Didn't  she  keep  me  awake  with  her  old  count- 
in'?" 

"  Sh-sh  !  You  mustn't  say  anything  about  them 
that's  gone  to  the  spirit  world  that  you  wouldn't 
want  'em  to  hear.  But  then  it  ain't  right  neither 
to  treat  folks  in  this  world  worse'n  you  would 


A   PRIZE.  17 

angels.  An' you  see  everything  she  was  doin'? 
See  the  squares  on  the  mantel-piece  ?  " 

"  Why,  there's  a  light  round  her,  bright,"  said 
the  boy,  stuffing  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and 
thinking  of  breakfast.  "  There's  always  a  light." 

"So  there  is, —  so  there  is.  I  forgot  that.  Now, 
Lenny,  you  be  sure  you  don't  hear  nor  see  a  thing 
you  don't  tell  me." 

When  the  two  went  in  to  breakfast,  Maria,  cut 
ting  bread  at  the  table,  detected  news  in  her 
father's  livelier  step. 

"  Maria,  he's  seen  Aunt  Peggy ! "  said  the  old 
man,  coming  in  and  looking  at  her  triumphantly 
across  the  stove.  Miss  Maria  paused,  with  the 
bread  knife  in  her  hand.  Leonard,  just  behind, 
noted  the  glittering  blade  with  a  sickening  heart- 
thump,  sure  of  his  impending  doom.  But  the 
ogress  went  on  cutting.  "Leastwise,  I  can't  help 
feelin'  as  if  'twas  Aunt  Peggy.  Seems  to  answer 
to  her  looks,  an'  what  she  died  of.  But  there's 
somethin'  about  it  I  don't  understand ;  seven,  the 
number  seven.  Maybe  she  wants  to  tell  us  some- 
thin'." 

"  Seven  wise  men  of  Greece  !  "  said  Miss  Maria, 
grimly.  "  Maybe  she  wants  to  warn  this  boy  here 
he'd  better  be  careful  not  to  grow  up  and  make 
eight." 

As  the  days  went  on,  Leonard  outgrew  some 
of  his  first  fear  of  Miss  Maria.  He  took  a  cold, 


18  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

which  for  the  time  being  obliterated  his  ill  quali 
ties  in  her  eyes.  The  nursing  instinct  was  strong 
in  her,  and  to  take  her  ginger-tea  and  thorough- 
wort  was  equivalent  to  eating  her  salt.  With  his 
returning  health,  her  severity  also  returned  in  part ; 
but  though  there  were  days  when,  as  her  father 
told  of  new  visions,  she  was  only  restrained  by 
principle  from  laying  violent  hands  on  the  lad,  she 
did  not  prove  an  incessant  north-wind  to  him.  He 
was  a  frank,  well-disposed  fellow.  No  one  could 
help  liking  his  absolute  honesty  and  his  gratitude 
for  slight  favors.  Sometimes  his  truth-telling 
propensity  was  so  apparent,  even  when  it  militated 
against  his  own  advantage,  that  Maria  had  intervals 
of  wondering  if  his  vision  might  not  be  "  an  honest 
ghost."  That  was  almost  inconceivable  to  her. 
She  had  only  as  much  appetite  for  the  supernatural 
as  would  enable  her  to  swallow  a  few  scriptural 
doctrines, —  not  by  any  means  all,  and  not  enough 
to  render  her  an  eligible  candidate  for  church-mem 
bership.  She  confined  her  belief  in  the  unknown 
to  a  faith  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  and  in  the 
incomprehensibility  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  With 
Miss  Maria  the  Holy  Ghost  stood  for  a  sort  of 
fetich,  a  mystic  symbol  to  be  pronounced  by  way 
of  a  charm  with  the  names  of  the  Father  and  the 
Son.  Miracles  she  rejected,  and  only  received 
Christ  as  a  leader  on  the  ground  of  his  preaching 
sound  doctrine.  She  would  not  have  said  he  was 


A   PRIZE.  19 

a  juggler ;  doubtless  she  gave  him  the  credit  of 
honestly  believing  in  his  own  miracles,  but  she 
pityingly  ascribed  to  him  the  same  sort  of  diseased 
mind  with  which  she  accredited  her  father  in  his 
belief  in  the  manifestations  of  spiritualism.  The 
whole  subject  she  hated  rancorously ;  yet  when 
her  father's  finger  touched  it,  she  was  tolerant, 
even  cherishing  him  the  more  for  his  weakness. 

"Everybody's  got  a  crack  somewhere  in  his 
head,"  she  would  say,  when  most  kindly  disposed 
towards  Leonard.  "  I  don't  know  what  mine  is, 
but  I  s'pose  other  folks  do." 


CHAPTER  H. 

THE   PROFESSOR   ARRIVES. 

T  EONARD  was  perhaps  thirteen  when  Uncle 
-*-*  Ben  Adams  took  him  home  from  the  poor- 
farm  that  night.  In  five  years  he  had  grown  into 
a  clownish  sort  of  fellow,  with  long  legs  and  a 
superfluity  of  flesh,  cheeks  of  apple  redness  and 
eyes  of  a  china  blue,  in  which  pure  honesty  lay 
looking  up  at  the  world.  Every  one  of  the  neigh 
bors  liked  Len,  he  was  so  ready  to  do  a  service, 
so  destitute  of  boyish  freaks.  When  Aunt  Lomie 
baked  pies,  she  brought  him  in  a  turnover,  a  mar 
vel  of  horrible  richness  ;  and  if  her  sons  went  to 
caucus,  or  to  town  for  the  weekly  supply  of  gro 
ceries,  she  was  liable  to  send  for  Len  to  sit  with 
her  through  the  evening.  Cap'n  Sol,  Aunt  Lo- 
mie's  husband,  had  died  since  we  first  saw  her,  and 
she,  with  the  two  giants  of  sons,  kept  up  a  peace 
ful  little  household. 

Although  Leonard  had  every  educational  advan 
tage  the  town  afforded,  going  to  the  district  school 
through  the  winter  with  the  other  well-grown 
lads,  he  showed  little  inclination  for  books.  Miss 
Maria  hurled  the  abstruse  truths  of  Colburn  at 
him  until  he  could  prove,  parrot-like,  the  feasi- 


THE   PROFESSOR   ARRIVES.  21 

hility  of  a  man's  driving  fifty  and  one-half  geese 
to  market,  but  the  inner  meaning  of  the  problem 
never  suggested  itself  to  him.  This  was  much  to 
Miss  Maria's  scorn ;  she  had  herself  been  accounted 
a  "  smart  scholar  "  in  her  day,  and  she  still  pre 
served  her  rewards  of  merit  with  much  satisfac 
tion.  Uncle  Ben  was  not  disturbed  by  the  boy's 
slight  intellectual  bent.  In  fact,  his  frame  of 
mind  showed  a  wavering  balance  between  what  he 
ought  to  feel  and  what  he  really  did  feel.  It  was, 
of  course,  a  subject  of  regret  that  the  boy  was 
growing  up  to  be  accounted  stupid ;  on  the  other 
hand,  that  very  stupidity,  a  neutrality  of  mind 
which  allowed  it  to  be  swayed  by  any  and  every 
influence,  could  only  increase  his  ability  for  becom 
ing  a  medium. 

"  Out  o'  the  mouth  of  babes,"  said  Uncle  Ben, 
"  it  is  ordained  the  great  truths  shall  come.  'Tain't 
the  wisest  of  us  that  learn  'em  first.  If  'twas,  the 
great  revelation'd  come  too  soon,  an'  it's  got  to  be 
worked  out  slowly,  through  much  tribulation." 

That  Len  had  in  five  years  made  no  advance  in 
development  as  a  medium,  caused  the  old  man  no 
uneasiness.  His  patience  was  as  absolute  and 
grand  as  the  patience  of  Nature. 

"An'  maybe  'tain't  comin',  Lenny,  my  boy,"  he 
would  say,  in  the  frequent  talks  they  had  on  the 
subject.  "  It  may  be  'tain't  you,  after  all,  that's 
goin'  to  convince  folks.  But  whether  'tis  or  not, 


22  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

you  an'  I  mustn't  care.     'Twon't  make  any  differ 
ence  who  the  good  news  comes  through." 

Leonard  himself  would  have  been  quite  well  sat 
isfied  to  be  sure  that  his  evident  ministry  between 
the  other  world  and  this  was  not  to  come  about. 
Even  for  so  good-natured  a  boy,  it  was  something 
of  a  bore  to  be  asked  every  morning  if  he  had  had 
a  spectral  visitant  the  night  before,  and  to  be  re 
quired  to  give  advice  the  bearing  of  which  he  could 
scarcely  comprehend.  Mingled  with  the  misery 
of  having  greatness  thrust  upon  him,  however, 
grew  a  sort  of  honest  vanity  in  considering  himself 
gingled  out  from  others  by  reason  of  an  exceptional 
gift.  He  still  insisted  that  he  saw  the  old  lady  of 
his  childhood,  who  was  now  familiarly  known  as 
Aunt  Peggy;  often,  indeed,  she  talked  audibly. 
It  was  somewhat  strange  that,  although  the  whole 
town  had  heard  that  fact,  no  one  set  him  down  for 
a  hypocrite.  His  little  world  passed  over  the  foi 
ble,  and  if  it  had  been  called  on  to  give  the  reason, 
would  doubtless  have  excused  him  as  not  responsi 
ble,  —  as  being  a  natural  in  that  one  direction. 

Just  now,  in  his  nineteenth  year,  it  was  an 
nounced  that  Professor  Biker  would  give  an  inspi 
rational  lecture  on  Spiritualism,  as  the  circulars 
stated  it,  in  the  town  hall.  Uncle  Ben,  who  had 
been  for  years  in  correspondence  with  various 
mediums  and  was  the  representative  spiritualist  of 
the  town,  had  undertaken  the  management  of  the 


THE   PROFESSOR   ARRIVES.  23 

whole  affair.  It  was  he  who  proposed  entertain 
ing  the  guest,  undeterred  by  Maria's  grim  silence. 
That  sceptic's  housewifely  pride,  which  was  en 
tirely  independent  of  any  bias  of  feeling,  rose  to 
the  surface,  and  her  most  plummy  cake  and  rich 
est  pie  were  in  hospitable  readiness  for  the  guest. 
Uncle  Ben  met  him  at  the  station,  and  the  fall  twi 
light  had  begun  to  settle  before  Dolly  compassed 
the  eight  miles  of  the  return.  Professor  Riker 
did  not  ride  past  the  house  to  the  barn,  but 
alighted  at  the  front  door.  This  circumstance 
alone  was  enough  to  arouse  Miss  Maria's  scorn. 

"  Let  father  drive  along  to  unharness  by  him 
self  ! "  she  muttered,  standing  well  back  in  the 
shadow  to  take  an  unobserved  inventory  of  the 
stranger's  appearance.  "If  I  was  a  man  I'd  be  a 
man ! " 

And  yet,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  she 
would  have  considered  herself  an  offender  against 
the  laws  of  hospitality,  had  she  allowed  a  guest  to 
lift  a  finger  in  service. 

He  had  knocked  three  times  before  she  saw  fit 
to  go  to  the  door,  clattering  the  cups  meanwhile 
to  justify  her  inattention,  even  to  herself.  The 
stranger  lifted  his  hat  with  a  flourish,  when  he  was 
finally  allowed  to  set  foot  in  the  entry,  extending 
a  daintily  gloved  hand  which  Maria,  pushing  the 
door  open,  was  too  much  occupied  to  notice. 

"Miss  Adams,  I  believe?" 


24  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

"Walk  in — and  take  off  your  coat  —  and  your 
hat  —  and  let  me  take  'em,"  said  his  hostess  in 
jerks,  as  if  the  words  had  a  bad  taste  in  her  mouth 
and  she  was  anxious  to  finish  the  operation  of 
ejecting  them  as  soon  as  possible. 

Divested  of  his  outside  apparel,  Professer  Biker 
proved  to  be  a  well-made,  broad-shouldered  man 
of  perhaps  forty-two.  His  eyes  were  somewhat 
near  together  and  his  nose  was  inferior,  but  a  long 
waving  beard,  delicate  hands,  and  a  superfine 
nicety  of  attire  were  sufficient  to  stamp  him, 
among  the  many,  as  fine  looking  and  a  gentleman. 
Maria  noted  with  contempt  that  his  watch-chain 
was  of  many  bands,  and  that  he  wore  a  large  and 
dangling  bunch  of  seals.  For  five  minutes  she 
was  too  incessantly  on  the  wing  to  admit  of 
falling  into  the  trap  of  conversation.  Finally  she 
could  make  no  more  honest  errands  into  the  little 
back  kitchen,  and,  with  some  shame  at  her  evil 
humors,  took  her  station  opposite  the  visitor. 

"  You  are  not  a  believer  in  the  cause  ?"  said  the 
professor,  keeping  up  an  incessant  rubbing  of  his 
hands.  Maria  was  sure  it  was  to  prevent  the  red 
ness  of  cold  from  settling  in  them.  Her  heart 
hardened  immediately.  Why  need  he  hare 
chosen  so  unlucky  a  subject? 

"No,  I'm  not,"  she  said  shortly.  "It's  the 
greatest  humbug  the  Lord  ever  allowed  ! " 

The  professor  looked  at  her  with  obtrusive  pity. 


THE  PROFESSOR  ARRIVES.          25 

"You'll  come  to  it  by  and  by,"  he  said  with 
great  cheerfulness.  "  I  perceive  you  have  medium- 
istic  qualities.  Once  developed,  I  have  no  doubt 
you'll  be  a  burning  and  shining  light." 

The  toad  in  the  fable  could  not  have  felt  himself 
more  perceptibly  swelling  with  pride  than  did 
Miss  Maria  in  her  indignation.  Fortunately,  her 
father's  step  was  heard  at  this  moment,  suggesting 
the  self-control  which  was  the  outgrowth  of  her. 
love  for  him. 

"Well,  well,  all  right?  Warm  enough?  Not 
tired  ridin'  in  the  cars?  Terrible  tiresome  work, 
ain't  it,  makin'  journeys?  Uses  my  head  all  up 
for  a  week." 

"Ah,  well,  I'm  used  to  it,"  said  the  professor 
wearily.  "I'm  going  about  incessantly,  you 
know.  But  this  speaking  from  inspiration  is 
wearing  work.  Sometimes  I  am  afraid  my  poor 
head  won't  stand  it.  However,  we  intellectual 
people  must  expect  to  break  down, —  die  at  the 
top." 

"  Supper's  ready,  father,"  said  Maria.  "  I  don't 
see,"  she  was  unable  to  resist  saying,  as  she  poured 
the  tea,  "  why  it  should  tire  anybody  to  be 
inspired.  If  the  words  come  to  you  without  any 
composing,  I  shouldn't  think  'twould  be  anything 
great  of  a  tax." 

"Ah,  you  don't  know, "said  the  professor.  He 
had  always  the  air  of  commiserating  one's  igno- 


26  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

ranee.  "It  takes  a  great  deal  of  nerve  force  to 
place  one's  self  in  a  purely  receptive  state.  My 
surroundings  have  to  be  harmonious.  I  am  as 
sensitive  to  bleak  winds  as  a  flower. " 

Maria  drank  some  tea  hastily  to  cover  an  incip 
ient  sniff  of  disgust,  and  ended  by  choking  herself. 

"Yes,  yes,  now  I  can  see  how  'twould  be,"  said 
her  father,  passing  cheese  and  butter  with  an 
eagerness  that  was  more  than  hospitable,  his  sim 
plest  services  seeming  to  grow  out  of  loving  kind 
ness.  "  Now  it  don't  make  no  difference  about  us 
common  folks,  but  I  can  see  how  'twould  with 
you.  Great  gifts  you've  got ;  and  then  you're 
educated  up  so  !  " 

The  professor,  with  a  wave  of  his  fork,  indul 
gently  deprecated  the  last  remark. 

"My  wife  doesn't  always  feel  it,"  he  said.  "I 
don't  blame  her  for  it,  but  sometimes  I  have  to 
say  to  her,  '  Julia,  can't  you  see  I  want  to  be  let 
alone?'" 

"Well,  I  should  think  she'd  be  glad  enough  to 
let  you  be  !  "  said  Maria,  taking  his  cup  rather  for 
cibly  to  refill  it. 

"  You  would  think  so  indeed,"  said  the  uncon 
scious  guest.  "You  would  think  she  would  see 
the  necessity  of  helping  on  a  great  work  by  doing 
her  little  best.  And  there  are  times  when  I  must 
be  alone.  Often,  when  I  commit  my  lectures  to 
memory,  I  walk  the  floor  for  hours." 


THE  PROFESSOR  ARRIVES.          27 

"  Commit  your  lectures  !  There's  a  mistake, 
then,  father.  You  got  out  the  handbills  to  say 
they  were  inspired." 

"  Oh,  yes, —  the  thoughts,  they  are  the  result  of 
direct  inspiration,"  said  the  professor  imperturba- 
bly .  " But  I  have  to  formulate  them  a  little,  and  re 
duce  them  to  the  level  of  an  ordinary  audience." 

Again  Maria  was  saved,  by  an  arrival,  from  the 
open  disgrace  of  speaking  her  mind,  —  this  time 
Leonard. 

"Well,  well,  sonny  !  where've  you  been?"  said 
Uncle  Ben,  as  the  great  fellow  came  in  shyly,  and 
began  to  dispose  a  part  of  his  inconvenient  person 
under  the  table. 

"Aunt  Lomie  asked  me  to  do  the  barn  work  to 
night.  The  boys  have  gone  down  to  see  about 
buying  Pete  French's  ma'sh." 

"  This  is  my  boy,  the  one  that's  goin'  to  do 
suthin'  yet,  we  hope,"  went  on  the  old  man. 
"  Lenny,  this  is  the  lecturer." 

The  two  pairs  of  eyes  met,  Len's  shy  and  the 
other  man's  searching.  The  end  was  that  the 
stranger,  with  flattering  cordiality,  held  a  white 
hand  across  the  table  for  the  boy's  awkward 
grasp. 

"You  need  not  have  told  me  who  he  is,"  he  said, 
smiling  at  him.  "  I  knew  as  soon  as  he  came  in. 
A  spirit  voice  whispered,  '  Great  light !  prophet ! 
help  him  develop  ! '  " 


28  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

"  You  don't  say  so  !  "  cried  his  host,  laying  down 
his  knife,  and  leaning  back  in  his  chair  in  sheer 
delight.  "Now  you  can't  mean  that!  Maria, 
ain't  that  a  test  ?  " 

"You  can't  expect  your  daughter  to  consider 
anything  short  of  the  ocular  proof  as  a  test  just 
yet,"  said  the  professor,  with  an  apologetic  defence 
of  her  which  seemed  to  Maria  as  sheer  impudence, 
as  it  stood  for  charity  in  her  father's  eyes.  "  Sci 
entists,  with  all  the  paraphernalia  of  philosophy 
on  their  side,  deny  us  the  right  of  existence  as  a 
sect :  what  should  be  expected  of  the  unthinking 
multitude  ?  " 

"  There's  no  call  for  you  to  use  your  lecture  all 
up  on  us,"  said  Maria,  this  time  with  intentional 
sarcasm,  as  they  rose  from  the  table.  "  Be  a  pity  if 
it  should  be  second-hand  when  you  get  to  the  hall, 
and  your  inspiration  should  give  out." 

But  the  professor  was  either  too  magnanimous 
or  too  obtuse  to  take  offense. 

At  seven  old  Dolly  was  harnessed  to  take  the  fam 
ily  to  the  hall,  all  but  Maria.  Just  before  they 
went,  she  ventured  on  —  what  was  rare  with  her 
—  an  open  remonstrance. 

"Father,"  she  said,  taking  him  into  the  back 
kitchen,  "that  man  is  a  lying  humbug,  and  you'd 
never  see  it  if  you  was  to  live  with  him  till  he 
made  you  think  black  was  white.  And  I  don't 
want  him  bamboozling  Len.  The  boy's  head's 


THE    PROFESSOR   ARRIVES.  29 

half  turned  now,  thinking  he's  some  great  shakes." 

"Now,  Maria,  le's  leave  it  in  the  Lord's  hands," 
said  her  father,  his  perpetual  good-will  to  men 
mantling  all  over  his  face  in  a  radiant  smile.  "His 
ways  ain't  our  ways,  an'  the  truth'll  come  upper 
most.  If  Len's  to  help  work  it  out,  le's  not  be 
stumbling-blocks  in  the  way,  an'  if  he  ain't,  the 
Lord  an'  his  niinisters'll  defend  the  boy." 

Maria  could  say  no  more.  She  went  back  into 
the  sitting-room  with  wet  eyes,  softened  in  spite 
of  her  judgment.  Her  father  alone  woke  in  her 
something  like  the  maternal  instinct.  But  there 
was  some  little  relief  in  asserting  her  own  right  so 
far  as  to  refuse  to  button  Len's  collar  or  tie  his 
cravat,  and  to  indulge  in  one  other  bit  of  belliger 
ent  resistance. 

"  Would  you  give  me  that  flower  and  a  gera 
nium  leaf  for  my  buttonhole  ?  "  asked  the  professor, 
pointing  to  the  flourishing  window  plants.  "  There 
is  something  harmonious  about  flowers." 

"  Here's  the  scissors,"  said  Maria,  passing  them 
with  the  points  bloodthirstily  foremost,  and  the 
professor  was  obliged  himself  to  cull  and  pin  in 
his  floral  ornaments. 

The  lecture  was  scantily  attended,  and  the  audi 
ence  was  not  too  quiet  during  its  florid  eloquence. 
A  few  boys  fell  into  a  scuffle  about  the  stove,  and 
some  one  started  that  time-honored  joke,  a  turnip 
rolling  down  the  aisle,  at  which  there  was  a  general 


30  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

titter.  The  town  held  Uncle  Ben  in  high  regard, 
except  in  his  capacity  of  spiritualist ;  there  he 
commanded  only  lightness.  When  the  professor 
announced,  at  the  close  of  his  lecture,  that  he 
would  proceed  to  give  tests,  a  hush  settled  even 
upon  the  most  sceptical. 

"This  room  is  filled  with  spirits,"  he  began, 
"  townsmen  of  yours,  most  of  them  ;  some,  friends 
who  have  passed  over  into  spirit  life  at  a  distance 
from  here." 

Several  boys  near  the  stove  involuntarily  looked 
over  their  shoulders,  and  then  by  common  consent 
went  into  the  front  and  more  occupied  portion  of 
the  house,  making  but  a  subdued  clatter. 

"  Here's  one  who  says  his  name  is  Peter  Dana. 
He  was  hanged  for  the  murder  of  an  old  woman. 
Says  his  mother  was  an  Indian.  Anybody  know 
him?" 

Glances  were  exchanged  from  large  and  wonder 
ing  eyes.  Uncle  Ben  almost  hugged  himself  with 
delight.  He  would  not  pronounce  his  recognition 
first,  however.  That  should  be  left  for  the  scep 
tical. 

"Half-breed  Pete!"  "That's  him!"  came  in 
murmurs,  until  one  voice  took  courage  to  speak. 
"I  know  him,"  when  there  came  a  chorus  of  cor- 
roboration. 

"  Says  he's  been  a  long  while  in  the  first  sphere  ; 
hopes  to  go  on  ;  hopes  you'll  take  warning  by  him." 


THE    PROFESSOR   ARRIVES.  31 

The  professor  was  standing  behind  his  table  with 
closed  eyes,  and  hands  occasionally  waving  before 
his  face.  He  had  turned  down  the  lights,  and  in 
the  uncertain  dusk  was  surprisingly  pale  and  un 
earthly.  It  was  astonishing  that  the  corners  about 
the  hall  could  look  so  dark  to  the  boys  who  came 
to  scoff. 

"  Somebody  says  her  name  is  Mary,  and  she  died 
of  consumption.  Ugh !  what  a  pain  it  gives  me 
in  my  chest !  How  she  did  suffer  before  she  passed 
away ! " 

A  woman's  sob  broke  the  stillness.  Two 
women's  voices  exclaimed  simultaneously,  "  I  know 
her  !  "  "  She's  mine  !  " 

The  medium  paused  for  a  moment  and  pointed 
in  the  direction  of  the  first  voice.  "  You're  right , 
she's  your  Mary,"  he  said  decisively.  "  The  other 
one  is  here  too,  but  isn't  able  to  communicate  as 
well  as  your  Mary." 

The  woman,  the  tears  streaming  down  her  face, 
had  risen  and  bent  over  the  settee  in  front  of  her, 
regardless  of  the  pitying  eyes  upon  her. 

"What  does  she  say?  Tell  her  to  speak.  I 
must  hear  her  speak  !  " 

"  She  says  it's  all  bright,  all  wonderful !  no  more 
pain  !  and  she's  always  near  you." 

"  The  Lord  be  thanked  !  "  said  the  woman,  sink 
ing  back  into  her  seat,  and  shamefacedly  trying 
to  suppress  her  sobs. 


32  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

"There  are  three  babies  dressed  in  white.  Oh, 
how  they  do  hover  over  here,  and  how  bright 
their  wings  are  !  " 

There  was  more  sobbing  recognition,  in  the 
midst  of  which  the  medium  opened  his  eyes  with 
a  start  and  twitch,  ejaculating  loudly,  "  Where  am 
I? "  Uncle  Ben,  triumphant  and  happy,  drew  him 
away  from  the  circle  of  awestruck  people  who 
were  desirous  of  regarding  him,  and  yet  exceed 
ingly  careful  not  to  approach  too  closely. 

"He  ain't  like  us,"  said  the  old  man  in  gentle 
apology.  "  He  can't  stan'  things  as  we  can,  an'  I'll 
warrant  he's  all  wore  out.  Get  Dolly  round,  Len, 
an'  we'll  be  on  the  road  home." 

Arrived  there,  they  found  Maria  and  Aunt  Lomie 
knitting  by  the  table.  Aunt  Lomie  looked  at  the 
medium  mildly,  as  she  might  regard  an  animal 
born  a  scorpion  and  not  able  to  help  it,  yet  by  no 
means  to  be  taken  into  one's  bosom.  The  professor 
asked  leave  to  lie  down  on  the  sofa,  and  stretched 
himself  at  full  length  there,  his  eyes  closed,  the 
tips  of  his  fingers  together  in  the  attitude  of  one 

whose 

"  —  bones  are  dust ; 
His  good  sword  rust." 

Once  the  great  Maltese  cat  walked  up  and  sniffed 
at  his  coat,  whereupon  Miss  Maria  called  sharply, 
"Puss,  puss!  come  away!"  showing  a  laudable 
resolution  that  puss,  at  least,  should  not  be  con- 


THE   PROFESSOll   ARRIVES.  33 

taminated.  When  Uncle  Ben  and  Leonard  had 
come  in  from  unharnessing,  quite  a  brisk  con 
versation  sprang  up,  broken  by  the  lurching  arrival 
of  the  two  Wasson  boys,  as  they  would  probably 
be  called  to  their  seventieth  birthdays. 

"Thought  we'd  come  in  to  see  ma'am  home," 
said  Sam,  drawing  a  chair  to  the  stove  and  dang 
ling  his  hat  between  his  knees,  while  the  other 
took  quite  the  same  attitude  in  fondling  the  cat. 

"You  needn't  ha'  done  that, —  both  on  ye,"  said 
Aunt  Lomie,  holding  her  forefinger  on  the  needles 
to  keep  the  place,  and  looking  mildly  over  her 
glasses. 

"Oh,  it  ain't  all  you,  Lomie,"  said  Uncle  Ben. 
"  I  spoke  to  'em  myself.  I  give  'em  some  hope  of 
a  sittin'.  He's  tired  all  out  now,"  nodding  to 
wards  the  sofa,  and  speaking  in  a  whisper. 
''  'Tain't  to  be  expected  he  won't  feel  what  he's 
been  doin'  to-night." 

It  was  natural,  after  this,  that  the  conversation 
should  drop  into  whispers,  and  then  cease 
altogether.  When  that  consummation  had  beei. 
reached,  the  professor  came  to  a  sitting  posture, 
and  opened  his  eyes  with  a  snap  upon  the  com 
pany. 

"You  spoke  of  a  sitting,  Mr.  Adams?  Any 
thing  I  can  do  for  you  is  at  your  service." 

So  the  table  was  cleared  and  the  light  turned 
down.  Nobody  had  thought  to  notice  Len  since 


34  FOOLS    Or   NATURE. 

he  came  in.  Only  when  his  finger-tips  touched 
hers  in  laying  them  on  the  table,  did  Maria  feel 
that  they  were  clammy  and  trembling.  This  was 
his  first  experience  of  the  common  phenomena  of 
spiritualism. 

"  Now  if  you  will  place  your  fingers  lightly  on 
the  table,  the  little  finger  touching  the  next  hand, 
and  so  on," —  a  result  brought  about  as  soon  as 
Sam  Wasson  could  realize  that  the  whole  of  his 
tremendous  hand  was  not  to  be  deposited  on  his 
neighbor's.  Maria  never  refused  to  take  part  in  a 
"  sitting."  It  was  the  public  sanction  she  was 
glad  to  give  to  her  father's  wishes. 

The  medium  closed  his  eyes  and  waited ;  Aunt 
Lomie  was  preternaturally  solemn ;  and  Maria 
fixed  so  wrathful  a  gaze  on  the  professor's  coun 
tenance  that  Henry  Wasson,  chancing  to  meet  it, 
burst  into  a  strange  and  monstrous  laugh,  which 
he  instantly  suppressed,  growing  purple  with 
shame. 

"  Henry,  I  shouldn't  think  you  was  grown  up  !  " 
said  Aunt  Lomie. 

"  Oh,  never  mind,"  said  the  professor,  opening 
his  eyes  for  a  moment.  "  It's  merely  nervousness. 
Give  way  to  it,  by  all  means,  and  it  will  be  over 
the  sooner.  Your  son  is  mediumistic,  madam, 
very  impressionable  in  his  nature." 

A  longer  silence,  and  nothing  occurred. 

"  S'pose  we  should  sing,"  suggested  Uncle  Ben. 


THE   PROFESSOR   ARRIVES.  35 

"  That  would  be  well.  Singing  brings  harmo 
nious  influences.  And  make  yourselves  as  recep 
tive  as  possible. 

"  Maria,  '  Sweet  Hour '  or  '  Nearer  to  Thee ' !  " 

Maria  had  a  high,  clear  soprano  which  had  led 
the  choir  this  many  a  year. 

"Yes,  father,"  she  answered.  It  should  be  per 
fectly  apparent  that  she  complied  to  oblige  her 
father  only.  When  she  struck  into  "  Nearer,  my 
God,  to  Thee,"  Sam's  tenor  and  Henry's  bass  were 
ready.  It  was  considered  a  great  treat  in  Coven 
try  to  hear  the  cousins  sing. .  Uncle  Ben  had  a 
tenor  voice.  It  cracked  frequently,  indeed,  and 
became  at  some  points  a  husky  whisper,  but  he 
always  sang  on  undiscouraged. 

"  I  think,"  said  the  medium,  after  the  singing 
had  ceased,  having  proved  of  no  avail,  "I  think 
I  must  tell  you  what  they  whisper  to  me.  There's 
somebody  here  who  is  a  real  sceptic,  and  she 
breaks  the  circle." 

Uncle  Ben  knew  well  enough  who  it  must  be. 
The  look  of  genuine  grief,  which  was  heart-break 
ing  to  his  daughter,  stole  over  his  face.  Seeing 
it,  Maria  herself  hung  her  head.  In  that  minute 
of  feeling  herself  the  cause  of  his  pain,  she  would 
willingly  have  bound  herself  hand  and  foot  to 
spiritualism,  if  that  could  have  been  possible. 

"  Maria,  I  think's  likely  they  mean  you.  P'raps 
you'd  better  set  back  ti  little  till  we  get  started  ! " 


36  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

"  Yes,  father ;"  and  Maria  retired  to  the  corner  of 
the  room. 

"  They  say  there's  too  much  vitality  in  the 
room ;  it  draws  from  the  medium,"  went  on  the 
professor  after  another  pause.  "They  are  not 
able  to  manifest  themselves  when  there  is  so  great 
a  flow  of  animal  magnetism." 

"  That's  you,  boys,  I'm  afraid,"  said  Uncle  Ben, 
shaking  his  head  with  disappointment.  "  I  guess 
you'd  better  set  back  a  little  too." 

The  boys  pushed  their  chairs  back  somewhat 
sulkily,  and  went  over  to  join  Maria  where  she'sat 
stroking  the  cat.  There  was  a  chivalrous  pleasure 
in  being  her  companion  in  disgrace.  Henry  shook 
his  fist  at  the  medium's  back  and  deftly  executed 
a  grimace,  at  both  of  which  Maria  smiled  and  then 
did  her  duty  by  frowning. 

"  Ah,  this  is  better.  The  air  is  clearer  !  "  After 
a  series  of  twitches  and  noddings,  "No,  no,  it's 
of  no  use.  The  medium  is  exhausted  and  they 
won't  use  him  to-night."  Professor  Riker  came  to 
himself,  and  Uncle  Ben  took  his  hands  from  the 
table  with  a  sigh. 

"Well,  well,  too  bad  !  Can't  be  helped,  though  ! 
It'll  all  come  right  another  time.  Boys,  you're 
too  strong  by  half,  and  Maria,  she's  got  a  doubtin' 
spirit." 

"Miss  Maria  is  a  repellent  force,"  said  the  pro- 


THE    PROFESSOR   ARRIVES.  37 

fessor,  "and  a  concentrated  one,  owing  to  her 
being  so  entirely  individualized." 

"  The  cat's  foot !  "  said  Miss  Maria  boldly,  for 
her  father  had  gone  out  of  the  room. 

Aunt  Lomie  discreetly  rolled  up  her  knitting 
and  drew  her  two  giants  away  before  they  burst 
into  loud  guffaws  of  approval. 


366224 


CHAPTEE  III. 

THE    INITIAL    STEP. 

TT  was  Maria's  first  consolatory  thought,  in  the 
-*-  morning,  that  the  medium  must  take  his  leave 
in  a  few  hours  ;  but  it  was  not  so  to  be.  At  break 
fast  her  father  announced,  with  a  sort  of  apologetic 
delight,  that  the  professor  had  decided  to  remain 
until  the  afternoon  train.  While  Maria  was  about 
her  work  she  heard  a  busy  hum  of  conversation 
in  the  sitting-room,  conversation  always  quenched 
by  her  entrance.  That  was  not  a  suspicious  cir 
cumstance  ;  it  was  but  natural  that  Eiker  should 
avoid  wasting  pearls  within  her  sceptical  hearing. 

To  enter  the  room  when  Len  was  admitted  and 
the  three  sat  in  conclave,  revealed  the  fact  that 
Professor  Eiker  was  offering  to  take  the  boy  away 
with  him,  "for  development." 

"  It's  a  great  offer,"  said  Uncle  Ben ;  "  my  old 
Adam  seems  to  stan'  in  the  way,  that's  all.  Self 
ish,  you  know,  we  all  are,  an'  I  can't  seem  to 
make  up  my  mind  to  partin'  with  the  boy.  Some 
how  I've  been  growin'  into  the  feelin'  that  he  was 
goin'  to  do  for  Maria  an'  me  in  our  old  age." 

"True,  my  dear  sir,  true,"  said  the  medium. 
"  We  all  have  those  impulses,  which  are,  as  you 

38 


THE    INITIAL   STEP.  39 

say,  selfish.  But  you  wouldn't  stand  in  the  way 
of  the  cause  ?  You  wouldn't  hinder  Leonard  from 
making  his  fortune  and  having  his  name  printed 
all  over  the  world  ?  " 

"  'Tain't  that ;  we've  got  enough  to  do  with,  an' 
after  I'm  gone  Maria'd  see  that  Lenny  shouldn't 
suffer.  An'  gettin'  his  name  up  ain't  no  temptation. 
Why,  you  don't  'spose  I  don't  know  this  great  rev 
elation  ain't  intended  for  us  poor  creatur's  to  make 
ourselves  whole  with  !  I  ain't  got  such  a  miserable 
spirit  as  that.  It's  missin'  the  boy  I  mind." 

"  He  shall  come  home  two  or  three  times  a  year ; 
more,  even,"  said  the  other,  glibly.  "Why,  you 
won't  lose  sight  of  him  !  Think  how  safe  you'll 
feel  about  him,  knowing  he  is  travelling  about 
with  me." 

"Yes,  yes,  that's  so.  Lenny,  how  is  it;  what 
say  ?  Do  you  want  to  go  ?  " 

The  boy  sat  between  the  two,  turning  his  gaze 
from  one  to  the  other  as  they  spoke,  his  face  show 
ing  only  absolute  awe  and  admiration  when  his 
eyes  rested  on  the  stranger,  and  a  kind  of  boyish, 
blubbering  sorrow  in  meeting  those  of  his  old 
friend. 

"I  like  him,"  ho  said  shyly,  "  and  last  night  the 
lady  come,  and  she  said  I  was  going  away." 

"  That  settles  it !  "  said  the  old  farmer  solemnly, 
and  at  once  ;  "  with  you  he  goes.  'Tain't  for  me  to 
withstan'  them  that  knows  more'n  I  do.  Now 


40  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

'tain't  because  I  don't  have  faith  in  you,  sir,  but 
I  should  like  to  know  jest  about  what  you'll  do 
with  him,  so't  I  can  say  to  myself,  one  day  after 
another,  Lenny's  doin'  so  an'  so." 

"  Well,"  and  the  medium,  who  was  leaning 
back  in  his  chair,  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  "I 
shall  take  him  about  with  me  wherever  I  go.  I 
shan't  require  him  to  do  anything,  but  just  place 
him  wholly  among  spiritual  influences,  where  he 
can  develop  unconsciously  as  a  flower  opens  in  the 
sun." 

"Yes,  yes  !  "  s.aid  his  host  eagerly.  "Like  the 
grass-seed  comes  up  in  the  spring  ;  you  know  how 
that  is,  Lenny.  An'  when  he  develops,  then 
you'll  set  him  to  work  ?  " 

"Yes  ;  then  he'll  see  people,  and  begin  to  make 
—  begin  to  do  good." 

"  The  Lord  grant  it !  "  said  the  old  man  fervently. 
"  The  Lord  bless  the  sproutin'  an'  the  comin'  up 
an'  the  bearin'  fruit.  Lenny,  you  don't  know  how 
favorable  things  are  goin'  to  be  for  you.  Now 
my  spiritual  experience  was  born  out  of  great 
tribulation." 

"Ah?     How  was  that?" 

"I  was  brought  up  strict.  We  used  to  hear 
hell  preached  every  week,  an'  gran'ther'd  mention 
it  every  mornin'  when  he  prayed.  Well,  it  sort 
o'  wore  on  me.  Long  before  I  was  as  old  as  Len 
here,  I  used  to  be  out  hoein'  near  the  road  some- 


THE    INITIAL    STEP.  41 

times,  and  when  one  neighbor  an'  another'd  go  by 
I'd  say  to  myself,  He  drinks  ;  he'll  go  to  hell.  He 
ain't  a  professor ;  he'll  go  to  hell.  An'  one  day 
it  come  over  me,  Ben  Adams,  you  ain't  been  con 
verted,  and  you'll  go  to  hell.  That  made  it  seem 
kind  o'  personal." 

"  Yes,  I  should  think  likely.  You  don't  mind 
my  using  my  note-book?  Now  go  on." 

"  Well,  I  read  Revelations  till  my  hair  stood  on 
end.  You  know  sometimes  you  can't  help  readin' 
the  things  that  scare  you,  over'n  over.  It  don't 
seem  to  me  I  slep'  much.  One  night  I  was  awake, 
starin'  into  the  dark  an'  wonderin'  if  I  should  die 
before  light,  when  it  come  into  my  head  all  at 
once,  'the  angel  rolled  away  the  stone.'  I  don't 
know  how  it  comforted  me,  but  it  did,  an'  I  went 
to  sleep  sayin'  it  over  an'  o\er.  The  next  mornin' 
when  I  got  up  it  was  bright  sunlight,  an'  I  went 
to  the  door  an'  looked  right  up  to  the  sky  an'  says, 
out  loud,  Lord,  if  you  punish  me  for  it,  I  can't 
help  it,  an'  I'll  bear  it ;  but  as  long  as  I  live,  I  ain't 
agoin'  to  think  one  o'  thy  creaturs  will  be  de 
stroyed." 

"But  how  did  you  get  from  that  to  spiritual 
ism?" 

"Well,  I  kep'  thinkin'  of  them  that  had  died, 
an'  wonderin'  where  they  were  an'  what  they  were 
doin' ;  an'  a  good  many  years  after,  I  got  hold  of 
a  newspaper  with  the  doin's  of  the  Fox  girls  in 


42  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

New  York ;  an'  that  cleared  up  my  mind,  so't  I 
ain't  doubted  since." 

"  How  did  your  friends  take  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  kep'  still  an'  thought  the  harder,  till  I 
got  more  light.  The  first  circle  I  went  to  was 
over  to  Creighton,  an'  I  got  great  tests.  Look 
here,  this  is  the  first  test  I  ever  got :  one  night 
there  was  a  spirit  come  that  said  his  name  was 
Bonnivard,  an'  that  he'd  been  put  in  prison  ;  seemed 
to  want  to  be  recognized,  but  we'd  none  of  us 
ever  heard  of  him.  When  I  got  home  I  kep' 
studyin'  on  it,  but  I  knew  if  I'd  ever  known  such 
\  queer  name  I  should  ha'  remembered  it.  I  went 
to  the  minister  an'  asked  him  if  he  knew  ;  an'  he 
said  there  was  a  man  named  so  died  in  Switzer 
land  over  three  hunderd  year  ago.  Now  wa'n't 
that  wonderful  ?  The  medium  didn't  know  about 
him,  an'  we  didn't ;  an'  there  he  come  an'  spelled 
his  name  out  I " 

The  professor  smiled,  saying  rather  dryly,  if 
that  unctuous  manner  could  ever  be  dry,  that  it 
was  all  very  convincing. 

"  Well,  it  stan's  to  reason  there  should  be  a  new 
revelation,"  went  on  the  old  man,  after  a  pause. 
"  'Taint  likely  the  Lord  would  give  all  He'd  got  to 
give,  an'  stop  there.  'Taint  in  reason  He  shouldn't 
keep  any  truth  on  hand  by  Him." 

"  So  you  are  perfectly  convinced,  and  never  have 
any  doubts?" 


THE    INITIAL    STEP.  43 

"No,  I  don't  have  any  doubts,  but  I  keep  on 
lookin'  into  it  all  the  time.  Truth's  a  mighty 
queer  thing,  sir  !  You  think  you've  got  her,  an' 
set  down  an'  go  to  sleep  ;  an'  when  you  wake  up, 
she's  run  away.  Truth's  a  good  deal  like  a  puppy 
that  ain't  got  wonted  to  you." 

The  stranger  again  used  his  note-book,  behind 
the  family  Bible. 

"  No,  no  !  an'  I  don't  by  any  means  think  I've 
got  at  the  whole  on't  yet.  The  Baptists  have  got 
some,  an'  the  Methodists ;  on'y  we've  got  the 
newest  revelation,  an' they '11  come  to  it  sometime. 
We  ain't  all  on  us  ready  for  it  yet.  —  But  I  guess 
Maria's  ready  for  some  short  wood.  No,  Lenny, 
I'll  go  ;  I've  got  to  speak  to  her." 

"If  you  would  allow  me  to  suggest,"  said  the 
medium,  placing  a  detaining  hand  on  his  shoul 
der,  "  Miss  Maria  should  not  be  told  until  Leonard 
is  gone.  I  heard  her  say  she  should  spend  the 
afternoon  away,  —  and  I  think  she  would  ob 
ject." 

"No,  Maria  won't  like  it,  but  I  shall  tell  her 
now ;  I  can't  be  underhand  with  Maria,"  said 
Uncle  Ben,  and,  going  into  the  kitchen,  he  made 
the  story  short.  The  door  between  the  two  rooms 
had  been  closed,  and  it  was  from  pity  only  that  he 
lowered  his  voice.  He  was  sorry  for  her. 

"  Father,"  said  Maria,  stopping  short  in  rolling 
pastry,  "  father,  you  can't  mean  to  do  that ! " 


44  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

"Now,  Maria,  if  you  could  on'y  think  'twas  for 
his  good  ;  if  you  could  on'y  believe  'twas  the  Lord 
speakin'." 

"  The  Lord  !  The "  began  Maria,  and  then 

closed  her  lips,  rolling  crust  energetically  for  a 
second.  Then  she  put  down  her  pin  and  wiped 
her  hands  on  her  apron,  an  action  according  well 
with  her  disordered  frame  of  mind.  "Father,  I 
wasn't  going  to  say  anything  more  against  him, 
seeing  he  was  going  away  so  soon,  but  that  — 
that  man  in  there  is  a  humbug  and  a  hypocrite." 

"  Now,  now,"  said  her  father,  soothingly,  "  don't 
let  your  heart  be  hardened  to  think  such  things  of 
your  fellow  bein's." 

"And  you're  responsible  for  Len,  father. 
You've  took  him  from  the  poor-house,  and  if  he 
goes  to  ruin,  who'll  be  to  blame?  And  ruin  him 
that  man  will !  It'll  be  easy,  too  ;  some  ways  Len 
ain't  more'n  half-witted." 

"He  must  leave  father  and  mother,  an'  the 
Lord'll  provide  for  him.  It's  hard,  Maria,  but  we 
must  give  him  up." 

Maria  stood  an  instant  looking  into  the  bare 
branches  of  the  chestnut  trees,  where  a  flock  of 
snow-birds  were  twittering.  Then  she  took  up  her 
rolling-pin,  and  went  stolidly  to  work.  "  All  right, 
pa,  I  shan't  say  any  more." 

One  question  only  did  she  ask,  "  When  is  he 
going,  father?" 


THE    INITIAL    STEP.  45 

"To-night,  with  the  professor.  He  seems  to 
think  it'll  be  better." 

"Well,  I've  got  half  a  dozen  shirts  to  make 
him.  He's  got  enough  now,  but  they're  wore 
thin.  If  he  should  wait  a  week,  seem's  if  he  could 
go  fitted  out  better." 

But  the  professor,  on  being  consulted,  thought 
it  would  be  better  not ;  in  fact  it  would  be  impos 
sible  to  leave  him.  In  a  week  or  two  he  should 
be  on  an  extended  lecture  tour,  and  should  want 
Leonard's  company.  Naturally  he  did  not  state 
that,  if  he  should  leave  him,  he  feared  Maria's 
influence.  The  day  was  a  hurry  of  packing. 
Luckily  the  boy's  clothes  were  in  perfect  condition, 
and  his  china-blue  eyes  danced  when  the  professor 
casually  remarked  that  he  should  buy  him  a  ready- 
made  suit  when  they  reached  town.  No  one  but 
the  medium  made  a  dinner  that  day.  Maria,  re 
marking  shortly  that  she  must  "see  to  the  pies," 
left  the  table  and  was  seen  no  more. 

When  Len  was  dressed  in  his  Sunday  best, 
looking  more  than  ever  like  a"  fat-cheeked  squirrel 
in  holiday  attire,  she  took  him  aside  into  her  own 
room. 

"  Now,  Lenny,  if  you  don't  have  a  good  time 
— if  it's  hard  —  if  he  —  (O  Lord  !  I  mustn't  make 
him  suspicious  and  miserable,"  she  said  to  her 
self)  —  "well,  if  things  ain't  pleasant,  — they  ain't 
always,  you  know,  —  and  you  want  to  come  home, 


4f>  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

you  privately  put  a  letter  into  the  post  for  me, 
and  I'll  send  you  the  money  to  come  with.  And 
if  you're  sick,  you  send  to  me  just  the  same,  and 
I'll  be  there  in  a  jiffy.  Understand? 

"  Yes,"  said  the  boy,  a  suspicious  choking  in  his 
voice.  "I  wisht  I  hadn't  got  to  go.  Do  you 
s'pose  he'll  buy  me  a  suit  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  suits,  but,  Lenny, 
did  you  say  you  didn't  want  to  go  ?  " 

"I  —  I  guess  I  do,"  said  the  boy,  the  glories  of 
possible  checkered  trousers  looming  up  before  him. 
"  I  guess  I'll  try  it."  So  Miss  Maria  hardened  her 
heart  to  hope,  and  sped  the  travellers. 

"  You'll  have  to  tell  us  where  to  direct  to  you," 
she  said,  loftily,  to  nobody  in  particular,  when 
they  had  gone  down  to  the  kitchen.  "  I  shall 
want  to  send  Len  some  shirts.  — Thank  the  Lord, 
they'll  fit  nobody  but  him  !•"  she  added,  in  not  too 
low  an  aside,  when  her  father  left  the  room. 

Hiker  was  deaf  to  innuendoes.  Perhaps  if  he 
had  not  treated  her  with  such  indulgent  gravity, 
Maria  might  have  been  better  able  to  endure  him. 
She  had  her  interview  with  him  before  he  left, 
however,  calling  him  back  when  her  father  and 
Len  had  gone  out  to  the  wagon. 

"Now  there's  no  need  of  thinking  I  don't  see 
through  you,  inspiration  and  all.  I  do  !  " 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  the  professor,  looking  up  from 
his  glove-buttoning,  with  an  expression  of  frank 


THE    INITIAL    STEP.  47 

innocence;  "you  can't  find  much  to  disapprove 
of." 

"I  know  just  what  sort  of  a  wolf  in  sheep's 
clothing  you  are  likely  to  be.  Now  if  any  harm 
conies  to  the  boy  through  you,  you'll  be  sorry  !  " 

"I  certainly  shall,"  said  Hiker,  smiling  slightly. 

"  I  mean  I'll  make  you  sorry  !  "  cried  Maria,  ex 
asperated  beyond  bounds.  "If  there's  any  law  in 
the  land,  I'll  make  you  suffer  !  Oh,  go  along,  go 
along  ;  I  don't  want  to  talk  to  you  !  "  and  the  pro 
fessor  lifted  his  hat  and  went,  with  the  same  grace 
which  had  encircled  his  arrival. 

At  the  station,  Uncle  Ben,  who  on  the  way  had 
addressed  his  remarks  exclusively  to  the  horse, 
pressed  a  dingy  roll  into  Hiker's  hand.  "  'Tain't 
much,"  he  whispered,  "  but  you  know  you  spoke 
of  that  suit  for  Len,  an'  you  didn't  get  much  for 
your  lecture.  Admission  don't  count  up  much, 
an'  I  want  you  to  be  paid ;  it's  a  great  thing  for 
us  to  have  a  speaker.  —  Lenny,  I  guess  I'll  go. 
Dolly'll  want  to  get  home  !  "  and  in  an  inextricable 
confusion  of  blessing  and  sorrow,  he  had  clambered 
into  the  wagon  and  lashed  old  Dolly  so  suddenly 
at  starting,  that  that  sober  animal  threw  up  her 
heels  in  a  very  coltish  fashion,  before  settling  down 
to  her  ordinary  gait. 

That  night  Leonard  slept  in  a  room  which  seemed 
to  him  a  marvel  of  splendor.  There  was  no 
vacant  place  in  Hiker's  own  boarding-house,  and 


48  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

he  had  left  the  boy  at  a  near  hotel,  where  he  called 
in  the  morning  to  take  him  to  breakfast.  Len 
was  too  bewildered  to  eat,  but  sat,  with  open- 
mouthed  awe,  watching  Eiker  break  his  egg. 

"  Now  we  shall  have  to  talk  a  little  about  busi 
ness,"  said  the  medium,  after  his  first  roll.  "  How  is 
it  about  this  lady  of  yours  ?  Do  you  see  her  often  ?  " 

"Almost  every  night,"  said  the  boy,  whispering, 
in  fear  of  disturbing  the  waiters. 

"  What  does  she  talk  about?  " 

"Oh,  I  don't  know ;  all  sorts  of  things." 

"Well,  now,"  said  the  professor,  insinuatingly, 
"  suppose  I  should  fit  up  a  nice  room  for  you,  and 
put  your  name  printed  on  the  door,  Professor 
Sparrow  (you're  a  professor  now,  remember ;  I've 
made  you  one).  Suppose  I  should  put  up  that 
black-and-gilt  sign,  and  people  should  come  and 
ask  your  advice  ?  "  The  sign  and  the  title  were 
mightily  taking ;  the  advice  struck  Len  as  an 
unknown  quantity.  "Then  they  would  come  in, 
and  you  would  shut  your  eyes  and  try  and  see  the 
lady.  You  could  sec  her  almost  any  time  with 
your  eyes  shut,  couldn't  you?" 

"I  don't  know ;  I  never  tried." 

"  Well,  you  must  try  when  you  have  your  office. 
And  you'll  say  to  the  people,  '  I  see  an  old  lady,' 
and  tell  just  how  she  looks;  and  when  they  ask 
questions  of  you,  you'll  tell  them  whatever  she 
seems  to  say." 


THE   INITIAL   STEP.  49 

"  But  s'posin'  she  shouldn't  say  anything  ?  " 

"She  must.  You  must  make  her,"  answered 
Riker,  with  meaning. 

"  But  I  don't  know  how  I  could,"  rejoined  the 
other,  distressed. 

"  Stupid ! "  muttered  the  medium,  under  his 
breath ;  but  presently  his  lips  parted  with  a  very 
engaging  smile.  "  I  guess  she  will  talk  if  she 
remembers  you  can't  go  on  being  a  professor  unless 
she  does.  Then,  by  and  by,  you  might  get  to 
seeing  other  people,  and  giving  them  names  in 
your  mind,  — not  last  names,  but  good,  easy  first 
names,  such  as  Mary  and  John ;  and  when  people 
came  to  you,  you  could  say,  *  I  see  Mary,'  or,  '  I 
see  John,'  'Mary  wants  you  to  know  she  is  happy, 
and  is  waiting  for  you.'  That's  all  easy  enough, 
isn't  it?" 

"Is  that  all  I've  got  to  do?"  asked  the  boy,  his 
very  cheeks  shining  with  delight  as  well  as  fatness. 
But  his  face  fell.  "  And  what  if  I  can't  see  'em  ?  " 
he  said  again. 

"  You  must !  "  answered  the  professor,  fixing  a 
narrowed  gaze  on  him,  across  the  table.  "Oh, 
you  don't  know  what  talents  you  have  !  "  he  went 
on  quickly.  "Why,  I  never  saw  a  young  fel 
low  with  such  chances  !  It  won't  be  three  years 
before  you'll  be  a  rich  man,  and  then  you  can 
go  home  to  Uncle  Ben  and  buy  him  a  smart 
horse  and  build  him  a  new  house,  and  give  that 


50  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

lovely  Miss  Maria  —  bless  her  !  —  a  handsome  silk 
dress." 

No  wonder  Len  was  quite  intoxicated  with  joy. 

"  I  shall  be  in  again  and  give  you  something  to 
do,"  said  Biker  as  he  left  him.  "I'm  going  to 
find  a  room  where  you  can  live  ;  you'll  always  go 
to  your  meals  with  me." 

In  the  course  of  the  forenoon  he  was  back  again, 
bringing  a  set  of  printed  slips  which  he  proceeded 
to  pin  on  some  sheets  of  paper. 

"  Now,"  he  said  when  that  was  finished,  placing 
them  before  Len,  "  I  want  you  to  learn  these.  You 
never  went  to  school  much,  you  know,  and  you 
must  have  an  education.  Learning  these  will  help 
you  to  use  good  language  when  you  go  into  society. 
Get  one  perfectly,  and  try  saying  it  over  with  your 
eyes  shut,  before  you  read  another." 

He  left  Len  droningly  reading  them  over  to  him 
self.  One  of  the  extracts  is  a  fair  specimen  of  the 
whole : 

"  I  have  been  some  time  in  the  spirit  land.  I 
am  beginning  to  progress  slowly,  and  hope  soon 
to  enter  another  sphere.  Dear  friend,  I  am  always 
near  you." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

AT  MISS  PHEBE'S. 

~VT  EARLY  a  year  after  the  fall  when  Leonard 
-*-^  began  his  education  in  Boston,  a  boarding- 
house  at  the  West  End  received  an  expected 
arrival.  A  young  man  and  woman  were  shown 
into  the  hall,  where  they  waited,  somewhat  uncer 
tainly,  while  the  trim  maid-servant  went,  as  she 
announced,  to  call  Miss  Phebe. 

"  It  looks  clean,"  whispered  the  girl.  "  I 
thought  boarding-houses  were  always  dirty." 

"  Didn't  she  show  you  into  the  parlor  ?  "  came  a 
great  fresh  voice  up  the  basement  stairs,  in  ad 
vance  of  a  very  tall  woman.  *  I  declare,  a  new 
girl  always  acts  as  if  she  was  just  born,  and  hadn't 
an  idea  of  how  things  went  in  this  world  !  Glad 
to  see  you.  I'll  have  your  trunks  carried  right 
up,"  she  went  on.  "I  suppose  a  hackrnan  wouldn't 
carry  up  a  trunk  if  his  eternal  salvation  depended 
on  it.  I'll  show  you  your  rooms  now." 

The  girl's  bedroom,  up  one  flight,  was  a  clean 
little  nest  of  a  place,  opening  into  a  larger  sitting- 
room. 

"Your  sleeping-room  is  upstairs,"  said  Miss 
Phebe  to  the  brother.  "  I'll  show  it  to  you  in  a 

51 


52  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

jiffy."  She  stopped  to  run  her  finger  along  the 
mantel,  and  looked  keenly  at  the  member.  "  She 
did  dust,  then ;  I'm  surprised.  Strange  that  I 
can't  teach  a  girl  to  turn  the  handles  of  the  pitch 
ers  out,"  she  added,  giving  the  water-jug  a  twist 
in  passing.  "Supper  at  six,  down  stairs." 

Before  that  time,  Bernard,  ready  for  tea,  ran 
down  to  his  sister's  room,  to  find  her  sitting  on  her 
trunk,  in  an  attitude  of  rather  disconsolate  medi 
tation. 

"Well,"  he  said,  closing  the  door,  "what  do 
you  think,  Sarah?" 

"  Everything  is  in  beautiftu  order,  —  Miss 
Phebe  is  queer,  —  and  I've  got  a  lump  in  my 
throat."  She  rose  with  a  little  defiant  toss  at  the 
last  admission,  and  began  brushing  her  dress. 

"Oh,  no,  dear,  no,"  said  Bernard,  putting  a 
hand  on  her  shoulder.  "No,  we'll  have  a  good 
time.  Be  a  man,  Sarah  !  " 

"  So  I  will !  "  turning  her  head  with  a  kind  of 
resolute  shame,  to  let  him  see  the  teardrops 
through  which  she  was  smiling.  "  There's  a  bell. 
Come.  Oh,  how  I  hate  to  meet  the  other  board 
ers  !  I  wonder  if  we  have  to  be  introduced  all 
round ! " 

Miss  Phebe  was  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and 
gave  them  seats  near  her.  They  had  time  to  notice 
that  she  was  a  very  bony  woman  with  a  long  face, 
which  irresistibly  suggested  a  horse. 


AT  MISS  PHEBE'S.  53 

"  Just  give  me  a  hint  as  to  your  name,"  she 
whispered  in  a  loud  aside.  "Ellis?" 

Sarah  was  conscious  that  she  was  being  intro 
duced  to  Mr.  Mann  and  Miss  Reynolds,  and  won 
dered  afterwards  if  she  had  bowed  in  the  wrong 
direction,  and  how  Bernard  had  got  through  with 
it.  Then  there  was  silence,  and  a  clatter  of  cups. 

"I  wonder  how  Miss  Gale  is,"  came  an  even 
voice  from  the  other  end  of  the  table,  belonging 
to  a  white  face  and  very  smooth,  black  hair ;  this 
must  be  Miss  Reynolds. 

"  She's  had  a  hard  day,"  answered  the  hostess, 
solemnly.  "Miss  Linora's  to  be  pitied,  if  any 
body  ever  was.  Mr.  Mann,  do  you  think  she's 
having  a  harder  time  than  usual?"  The  tone 
suggested  the  inference  that  Mr.  Mann  was  re 
sponsible  for  the  suffering  absent  one,  —  a  tone 
which  he  evidently  resented. 

"  I'm  sure  I  couldn't  say,"  he  answered  dryly, 
at  which  Miss  Phebe  looked  at  him  with  great 
severity. 

Sarah  glanced  up  too,  to  find  him  a  young 
man,  blond  and  handsome,  but  with  an  irritating 
weariness  of  face  and  manner. 

"I  wish  that  poor  child  had  more  friends,  and  I 
wish  what  she  had  would  be  true  to  her,"  announced 
Miss  Phebe,  apparently  to  nobody  ;  adding  imme 
diately,  "  Sh-sh,  she's  coming  ! " 

She  was  a  little  thing  in  a  suit  of  dove-gray, 


54  FOOLS    OF   NATUKE. 

with  a  pale  Madonna-like  face,  and  smooth  brown 
hair.  Her  mouth  had  a  droop,  her  eyes  were  cast 
down,  and  their  fringes  were  like  shadows  of  a 
grief.  Sarah  longed  to  immolate  herself  at  once 
in  service  as  to  a  maiden  dolorous.  Miss  Phebe 
left  her  own  place  to  draw  out  the  girl's  chair,  and 
seated  her  in  it  with  a  little  pat  on  the  shoulder. 
Miss  Gale  acknowledged  the  introduction  to  the 
two  strangers  with  a  sweet  little  smile  and  a  lifting 
of  her  gray  eyes.  Then  Sarah  lost  her  timidity 
in  watching  Miss  Phebe  serve  the  new-comer, 
ordering  for  her  a  peculiarly  strong  libation  of  tea 
and  a  hot  supply  of  dry  toast.  Conversation 
languished,  and,  the  meal  over,  everybody  with 
drew  to  his  own  room. 

Bernard  had  run  up  stairs,  to  go  to  his  sister's 
sitting-room  later.  Busy  in  unpacking,  Sarah 
heard  a  little  rap  which  could  be  only  his,  and 
called  "  Come  in  !  "  without  lifting  her  head  from 
the  trunk-tray. 

"I  wonder  if  I  shall  intrude,"  came  a  soft 
voice  from  the  door.  It  was  the  dove-colored 
Linora. 

"  Oh  dear  me  !  Excuse  me  ;  come  in,"  said 
Sarah,  flushing  brightly.  "Everything  is  scat 
tered  about ;  only  wait  till  I  can  clear  a  chair." 

"No,"  said  the  celestial  sort  of  visitor,  putting 
her  hand  on  the  other  girl's  shoulder  and  arresting 
her.  "No,  I  only  want  to  say  a  word.  I  like 


AT  MISS  PHEBE'S.  55 

you  so  much ;  I  like  your  face,  and  your  eyes  are 
so  good.  You  will  be  a  great  comfort  to  me." 

Before  Sarah  could  do  more  than  laugh  and 
blush  a  little,  Linora  had  risen  on  tiptoe  to  deposit 
a  kiss  on  her  cheek,  and  was  gone.  When  Ber 
nard  came  in  Sarah  did  not  tell  him.  Everything 
about  Miss  Linora  seemed  so  mysteriously  confi 
dential  that  she  began  now  to  feel  herself  in  the 
secret. 

"  What  shall  you  do  in  the  morning,  Bernard  ?  " 
she  asked,  as  they  said  good-night. 

"Go  to  the  library  and  begin  to  read.  You 
won't  be  lonesome  if  I  do  ?  " 

"No,  for  I  shall  go  with  you,"  with  a  little 
grimace  which  Bernard  loved,  for  it  never  came 
except  when  she  was  at  least  moderately  happy. 

"  Sarah,  there's  one  thing,"  he  said,  coming 
back.  "I  wish  you  wouldn't  tell  any  one  I'm  not 
your  own  brother." 

"  Of  course  not.     Why  should  I  ?  " 

It  had  never  seemed  to  weigh  on  Bernard  that 
he  was  an  adopted  son,  although  he  had  been  de 
voted  to  his  second  mother.  Perhaps  he  was  too 
jealously  fond  of  Sarah  to  care  to  pass  as  a  brother 
merely  ;  it  was  better  to  hold  at  once  the  rights  of 
a  brother  and  friend.  There  was  no  mystery 
about  his  parentage.  Mrs.  Ellis  had  offered  to 
tell  him  all  about  it  when  he  came  of  a  suitable 
age,  and  he  had  refused,  for  some  reason  inexplica- 


56  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

ble  to  himself.  So  she  put  the  bare  facts  on  paper 
and  gave  it  to  him ;  a  paper  which  he  had  never 
been  tempted  to  read. 

There  was  unlikeness  enough  between  him  and 
Sarah  to  suggest  some  freak  of  nature,  if  they 
had  come  of  the  same  parents.  Sarah  was  brown- 
eyed  and  brown-haired,  with  a  stain  of  red  on  the 
cheeks  ;  Bernard's  face  was  heavy,  his  head  large, 
almost  overtopping  his  slight  frame ;  his  hair,  a 
mat  of  yellow  with  a  shade  of  drab,  was  combed 
back  from  the  great  forehead,  and  he  had  a  way 
of  throwing  back  his  head  when  he  walked  which 
was  suggestive  of  seeing  only  the  sky.  He  was 
here  to  read  in  connection  with  a  book  he  meant 
to  publish  for  children,  —  stories  from  all  the 
mythologies  ;  Sarah,  because  her  mother  had  died 
six  months  before,  and  she  had  no  one  in  the 
world  nearer  her  heart  than  Bernard.  They  had 
heard  of  Miss  Phebe  through  acquaintances,  and 
here  the  two  country  mice  were  established. 

Bernard  went  to  the  library  in  the  morning,  but 
Sarah  stayed  behind. 

"Would  you  let  me  come  and  sit  with  you  a 
little  while  this  morning?"  whispered  Linora,  as 
they  came  up  from  breakfast.  "  Or,  if  your  un 
packing  isn't  done  yet,  come  to  me."  Sarah  ran 
down  to  the  little  lady's  apartments.  These  were 
two  large  rooms,  running  over  with  luxuries  of 
furnishing  and  littered  with  bric-a-brac. 


AT  MISS  PHEBE'S.  57 

"Come  to  the  fire,"  said  Linora,  drawing  an 
easy-chair  to  the  grate  and  placing  a  footstool 
beside  it  for  herself,  where  she  sat  clasping  her 
knees  and  looking  up  to  Sarah  with  a  childlike 
seriousness.  "Now  talk." 

"  But  what  shall  I  talk  about  ? "  said  the  other 
girl,  not  so  much  embarrassed  now  as  amused. 

"About  yourself." 

"I'd  rather  talk  about  you." 

"  No,"  said  Linora,  the  corners  of  her  mouth 
drooping  again.  "  There's  nothing  but  trouble 
when  you  come  to  me." 

Sarah  was  thereupon  angry  with  herself  for  her 
stupidity.  It  seemed  coarseness  at  which  Linora 
might  reasonably  be  disgusted. 

"  There's  one  thing  I  wanted  to  speak  of,"  she 
said,  veering  in  haste.  "Your  name  —  how 
pretty  it  is  !  " 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  That  isn't  all  of  it,  though. 
Don't  laugh,  now ;  they  named  me  Eleonora. 
Think  of  that,  — little  me  !  1  knew  you'd  laugh." 

"  Who  changed  it?"  asked  Sarah,  venturing  to 
stroke  the  brown  head. 

"  Well,  they  nicknamed  me  variously  at  first. 
Once  it  was  Norah,  but  that's  red-cheeked  and 
Irish ;  then  it  was  Leo,  —  for  little  me  again  ! 
But  when  I  grew  up  enough  to  realize  the  emer 
gency,  I  took  matters  into  my  own  hands.  If  you 
like  the  name,  will  you  use  it?" 


58  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

"Why,  if  you  let  me."  Linora  gave  Sarah's 
little  finger,  which  she  was  caressing,  a  soft  little 
kiss. 

"Now  how  shall  I  entertain  you?"  she  asked. 

"Tell  me  about  the  people  in  the  house." 

"Well,  there's  Miss  Phebe,  —  she's  pure  gold  : 
there's  Miss  Reynolds,  born  to  make  mischief; 
and  Mr.  Mann,  —  I  don't  know  what  to  say  about 
Mr.  Mann." 

"  You  know  him  better  than  you  do  the  rest," 
thought  Sarah.  "  What  does  Miss  Reynolds  do  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  Collects  her  dividends  chiefly,  and  also  collects 
personal  items  about  her  acquaintances.  If  she 
tells  you  I  am  an  offspring  of  evil,  don't  believe 
her." 

•V 

"  Not  I !  "  with  another  stroke  of  the  brown  head. 

"About  Mr.  Mann,"  Linora  went  on,  reflect 
ively,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears.  "I  don't 
know,  —  yes,  I  think  I'd  better  tell  you.  Mr. 
Mann  hasn't  been  quite  kind  to  me.  I  was  in 
great  trouble  when  I  first  came  here.  He  was,  or 
I  thought  so,  a  firm  friend.  Why,  he  called  him 
self  my  brother.  But  he  changed.  I  have  thought 
since  that  he  only  likes  new  people,  new  things  !  " 

Sarah  had  one  throb  of  compassion  for  her  new 
friend,  to  ten  of  indignation  at  the  recreant  knight. 

"  Perhaps  I'd  better  tell  you  everything,  if  we 
are  to  be  friends,"  said  Linora,  after  another  pause 


AT  MISS  PHEBE'S.  59 

of  gazing  abstractedly  at  the  coals.  "  Would  it 
bore-you  to  hear  all  about  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  if  you  could  trust  me  as  much  as  that !  " 

"Anybody  would  after  seeing  your  face,  my 
dear.  You  will  find  me  sad  so  many  times,  that 
I'd  rather  you  should  know  just  why.  My  mother 
and  father  are  dead,  and  my  uncle  has  charge  of 
my  property  ;  that's  considerable,  by  the  way.  My 
uncle  does  not  care  for  me,  and  it  only  bores  him 
to  have  me  with  him ;  and  as  he  is  travelling  most 
of  the  time ,  I  drift  about  wherever  I  can .  I  heard  of 
Miss  Phebe  through  a  friend  of  hers,  —  Mrs.  Win 
ter  the  singer,  you  know,  —  and  I  felt  as  if  I  could 
come  here  in  her  charge  without  a  chaperone." 

Sarah's  assent  was  slightly  perplexed  ;  she  had 
not  been  bred  on  the  tradition  of  the  necessity  of 
chaperones. 

"Once  I  had  a  voice,  a  contralto.  It  showed 
the  most  flattering  prospect  of  developing,  and  I 
was  going  on  the  operatic  stage.  Singing  was 
life ;  looking  forward  to  my  profession  was  my 
heaven  !  "  She  told  her  story  well.  Doubtless 
she  had  the  dramatic  instinct.  "  While  I  was  study 
ing,  I  met  a  young  priest.  I  was  interested  in 
Catholicism  then,  and  once  I  went  to  confession. 
We  met  often  after  that.  We  fell  in  love  with 
each  other." 

Sarah  scarcely  dared  breathe,  fearing  to  disturb 
the  sacred  stillness  of  the  air. 


60  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

"  Think  what  that  meant  for  him !  lie  could 
not  marry.  There  were  his  vows  on  one  side,  his 
God,  his  sacred  calling ;  there  was  I  on  the  other. 
We  gave  each  other  up  a  thousand  times  ;  a  thou 
sand  times  we  met  and  swore  fidelity.  Sometimes 
he  gave  up  his  priesthood  and  chose  me.  Then 
we  were  happy ;  but  by  the  time  I  saw  him  again, 
his  conscience  had  begun  to  gnaw  him,  and  we 
had  the  same  struggle  to  go  through  from  the 
beginning.  I  was  not  strong.  I  could  not  help 
him  give  me  up ;  I  was  too  much  a  woman."  Her 
voice  failed  in  tears.  "  At  last,  one  day,  he  swore 
it  should  end ;  he  would  marry  me,  and  I  was  to 
meet  him  to  have  the  ceremony  performed.  I 
went,  and  waited  hours  at  the  appointed  place ; 
finally  a  letter  came  that  bade  me  good-by ;  he 
could  not  break  his  vows  to  the  Church.  I  had 
gone  through  too  much,  and  that  last  blow  crushed 
me.  I  fainted,  and,  days  after,  when  I  tried  to 
sing,  my  voice  was  —  gone  !  " 

Sarah  sat  speechless  and  still,  clasping  her  hands 
in  her  lap.  She  was  sure  if  she  tried  to  utter  a 
word  it  would  only  result  in  a  sob. 

"  That  is  the  end,"  said  Linora  at  last,  looking 
up  pitifully  through  tears.  "I  have  not  seen  him 
since.  I  lost  my  lover  and  my  voice  at  one  blow. 
What  is  there  left  for  me? " 

"  If  I  could  make  any  difference,"  said  Sarah, 
timidly,  after  a  long  silence.  "I  know  it  sounds 


AT  MISS  PHEBE'S.  61 

presuming ;  but  I  could  be  trusted  if  I  couldn't 
do  any  real  good  !  " 

"  My  dear,  you're  just  the  friend  I've  always 
needed,"  said  Linora.  In  consequence  of  which 
assertion  Sarah  felt  a  thousand  times  more  at  home 
in  her  new  surroundings  by  the  time  Bernard  came 
back. 

"What  luck?  Ship-ahoy!"  she  called  to  him 
as  he  came  up,  waiting  at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

"  You  never  saw  so  many  books  in  your  life  !  " 
said  Bernard,  out  of  breath.  "  You  must  go  to 
morrow.  But,  Sarah,  my  book  has  been  writ 
ten." 

"  It  has  ?    What  shall  we  do  ?   Go  on  writing  ?  " 

"No,  give  it  up  and  read.  I  don't  want  to 
work ;  I  want  to  browse." 

Sarah  only  told  her  brother  that  she  found  Miss 
Linora  charming,  and  his  own  acquaintance  with 
her  amounted  to  little  more  than  an  interchange 
of  the  ordinary  civilities  of  life.  The  two  girls 
were  almost  constantly  together,  and  Bernard 
wondered  a  little  that  Sarah  was  not  more  ready 
to  go  out  with  him.  The  wonder  did  not  last, 
however ;  he  was  too  busy  among  the  books. 

"You  would  scarcely  believe  me,  I'm  afraid,  if 
I  told  you  where  I  get  great  comfort,"  said  Lin 
ora,  one  day.  Almost  their  entire  conversation 
had  some  bearing  on  her  own  afflictions.  "In 
spiritualism.  Yes,  I  was  afraid  it  would  shock 


62  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

you.  My  dear,  you  don't  know.  I  went  first  to 
ask  about  my  voice.  They  gave  me  hope  of  its 
coming  back." 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  !  That  is,  I  should  be  if  I 
believed  in  it ;  but  how  can  it  be  true  ?  It  shocks 
me  ;  it  is  vulgar  for  people  who  have  died  to  come 
back  to  tip  tables." 

"Ah,  those  arc  only  the  first  coarse  manifesta 
tions  ;  we  are  beyond  that  now.  I  see  !  you  have 
the  common  idea.  What  should  you  say  if  a 
medium  should  talk  to  you  in  the  voice  of  your 
own  mother  and  say  things  she  would  say  ?  " 

"  Don't !  "  cried  Sarah,  with  a  quick  backward 
motion  of  her  hands,  the  tears  springing  into  her 
eyes. 

"  Forgive  me  !  I  wouldn't  wound  you  for  any 
thing.  But  go  with  me  sometime ;  go  to  Madame 
Swift's." 

They  were  standing  at  Sarah's  door  when 
Stephen  Mann  passed  them  on  his  way  up  stairs. 
Five  minutes  after,  when  Sarah  was  alone,  some 
one  knocked  at  her  door.  She  opened  it  to  find  Mr. 
Mann,  evidently  a  little  embarrassed ;  it  was  the 
first  time  he  had  offered  to  exchange  a  word  with 

O 

her,  beyond  a  good-morning. 

"  You  must  excuse  me  for  overhearing  you,  but 
I  couldn't  help  it.  Are  you  going  to  see  a  medium 
with  Miss  Gale?" 

"I  haven't  decided,"  said  Sarah,  telling  a  lie  as 


AT  MISS  PIIEBE'S.  63 

a  species  of  loyalty.  He  was  Linora's  enemy, 
therefore  he  was  hers. 

"  You  may  think  I'm  interfering,  —  it  is  interfer 
ence  ;  but  I  shouldn't  advise  you  to  go.  In  fact, 
I  should  advise  you  not." 

"You  mean  if  there  were  a  question  of  your 
advising  at  all,"  said  Sarah,  bitingly,  and  feeling 
a  little  ashamed  of  herself  in  consequence. 

"Exactly;  but  I  mean  for  Miss  Linora's  sake, 
you  know  ;  of  course  I  shouldn't  presume  to  inter 
fere  with  you.  It  excites  her ;  it's  very  bad  for 
her." 

Sarah  softened  in  spite  of  herself.  Perhaps  he 
was  misunderstood,  after  all,  and  not  as  false  as 
circumstances  painted  him. 

"  I  see ;  and  I  didn't  really  mean  to  go,"  she 
said,  smiling  grudgingly.  Ought  she  to  smile, 
after  all? 

"  And  you  won't  say  anything  to  Miss  Gale  ? 
She  might  think  I'd  no  business  to  feel  inter 
ested." 

"  Yes,  I  see  ;  "  and  Sarah  withdrew  into  her  room 
to  wonder  if  she  could  play  peacemaker.  His 
face  was  marvellously  changed  by  its  smile  ;  made 
radiant  as  some  few  faces  are. 

That  night  Bernard  gleefully  produced  tickets 
to  the  Mozart  Club.  "  Mann  gave  them  to  me ; 
he's  a  member." 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  acquainted  with  him," 


64  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

said  Sarah,  looking  at  the  tempting  slips,  and  won 
dering  if  she  ought  to  accept  her  enemy's  favor. 

"  I've  been  getting  acquainted  while  you  and 
Miss  Gale  have  been,  colloquing.  He's  a  good 
fellow;  handsome  and  musical,  and  all  that.  He's 
a  tenor,  too.  Did  you  ever  imagine  an  attractive 
chap  singing  bass  ?  " 

"An  attractive  chap  may  have  no  voice  at  all, 
dear  raven !  " 

'  The  raven  is  hoarse  ! ' "  cried  Bernard,  throw 
ing  himself  into  an  attitude.  "  Sometime  his  voice 
will  clear,  and  then,  what  melody  !  " 


CHAPTER    V. 

TAKING   A    PLUNGE. 

A  NIGHT  came  when  a  celebrated  man  was  to 
•*"*-  speak  on  immortality.  Sarah  had  a  great 
longing  to  hear  him.  Half  her  life  lay  in  an  unseen 
existence,  where  her  mother  dwelt.  Her  mood  in 
these  days  was  not  her  habitual  one ;  her  heart 
rose  in  brief  flashes  of  cheerfulness,  but  her 
thoughts  were  too  much  with  the  dead.  Something 
haunted  her,  which  not  even  Bernard  suspected. 
She  was  one  of  the  people  who  love  passionately, 
with  pain ;  in  whom  conscience  is  often  stricken 
because  there  has  been  no  adequate  expression  of 
the  love.  There  are  such  people,  to  whom  love 
has  been  in  some  degree  violated  if  the  torch  is 
not  always  flaming ;  as  there  may  have  been  poets 
who  grieve  that  the  necessities  of  life  call  upon 
them  to  drop  from  singing  to  speech.  Did  her 
mother, — one  of  the  perfect  mothers,  whose  un 
derstanding  was  as  marvellous  as  her  silence  was 
fine,  —  did  she  surely  understand  now,  and  had  she 
always  understood  her  child's  longing  to  serve  her  ? 
When  the  evening  came,  Bernard  yielded  to 
a  headache,  and  Sarah,  in  spite  of  his  protesta 
tions,  set  forth  alone.  There  was  no  one  else  to 

66 


66  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

go  with  her.  This  was  one  of  the  days  when 
Linora  betook  herself  to  solitude  in  her  room,  and 
was  supposed  by  the  household  in  general  to  be 
devoting  herself  to  grief. 

Stephen  Mann  was  drawing  on  his  gloves  at  the 
door  when  Sarah  reached  it ;  it  was  natural  enough 
to  accompany  her  down  the  steps,  and  his  way 
proved  hers.  Sarah  had  been  in  doors  all  day, 
and  was  eager  for  a  walk.  It  did  occur  to  her 
that  Stephen  might  possibly  drop  off,  until  they 
reached  the  Common  and  he  took  her  path.  He 
was  —  a  new  thing  to  her  —  exceedingly  ani 
mated  ;  a  sign,  if  she  could  have  known  it,  that  he 
was  holding  himself  in  leash. 

"You  are  going  to  Kay  Street?  So  am  I,"  he 
announced.  "  Would  you  allow  me  to  find  you  a 
seat?  Then  I  can  put  you  in  a  car  afterwards, 
and  that  will  be  pleasanter  than  finding  one  your 
self." 

Sarah  hesitated  an  instant  to  wonder  if  this 
would  be  proper  in  the  city.  It  would  in  the 
country,  and  Mr.  Mann  was  so  fine  a  gentleman 
that  he  might  be  trusted  to  know.  Then  the  city 
itself  still  frightened  her,  like  a  monstrous  animal, 
and  she  never  knew  which  way  the  car  she  wanted 
ought  to  go.  So  she  agreed  ;  and  Stephen,  with 
the  air  of  having  tossed  some  doubt  and  apprehen 
sion  to  the  winds,  ran  on  in  a  scamper  of  conver 
sation.  Sarah  had  at  the  bottom  of  her  reasons 


TAKING   A    PLUNGE.  67 

for  saying  yes,  —  or  was  it  a  surface  bubble  ?  —  a 
thought  of  Linora  and  her  own  possible  mission  as 
peacemaker.  She  would  broach  the  subject  pres 
ently. 

The  sermon  that  night  was  no  revelation  to 
her ;  it  only  responded  like  an  ecstatic  chorus  to 
her  own  certainty  of  eternal  life.  She  was  one  of 
those  fortunate  souls  who  never  really  doubt  it. 
At  the  close,  the  choir  melted  into  a  sweet  con 
firmation  of  the  preacher's  wisdom.  The  tenor 
pierced  through  it  like  a  bugle  note, — ecstatic, 
triumphant,  a  conquering  Michael.  Sarah  threw 
back  her  head  ;  she  felt  like  challenging  the  voice 
with  answering  joy.  It  upbore  the  harmony,  and 
ended  at  a  triumphant  height.  She  could  not  bow 
her  head  for  the  benediction ;  it  -was  the  natural 
worship,  for  the  moment,  to  look  up  into  the  face 
of  the  Almighty.  But  Stephen  looked  at  her. 

"  Will  you  ride  down  ?  "  he  said,  as  they  left  the 
church. 

Sarah,  quivering,  and  on  the  verge  of  excited 
tears,  answered  hastily,  "No,  I  must  walk!  that 
is  —  " 

"No,"  said  Stephen,  his  voice  no  more  even  than 
her  own.  "I  must  walk  too.  Is  it  proved  to 
you?"  he  asked,  when  the  stars  and  clear  air  had 
calmed  her.  "  Are  you  surer  of  being  immortal  ?  " 

"  More  sure  than  I  was  ?  "  cried  the  girl  triumph 
antly.     "  I  did  not  need  to  be." 


68  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

"  Are  you  so  positive  ?  " 

"You  may  take  my  word  for  it,  if  you  are  not," 
said  Sarah,  with  an  audacity  that  seemed  like  in 
spiration.  "  I  am  sure,  if  the  universe  is  destroyed, 
that  I  shall  live." 

They  did  not  speak  again  till,  striking  the  Com 
mon,  Stephen  stopped  her  to  say,  almost  in  a 
whisper,  "Look  at  the  moon.  How  young  she 
seems  !  A  month  or  so  ago  I  thought  the  world 
was  rather  an  old  affair ;  now  I  could  swear  it  is 
just  born." 

When  she  would  have  gone  on  he  arrested  her 
again  by  a  hand  on  her  arm. 

"  Just  one  minute.  Give  me  that  to  think,"  he 
said  in  a  husky  voice.  Sarah  turned  to  look  at 
him  curiously,  but  it  occurred  to  her  that,  after 
Linora  and  Miss  Phebe,  it  must  not  surprise  her 
to  meet  any  out-of-the-way  type. 

"Well,"  said  Stephen,  looking  up  from  his 
moment's  meditation.  "If  a  man  has  burned  his 
boats  behind  him,  he  must  e'en  go  on.  I  shouldn't 
have  come  out  with  you  to-night." 

"I'm  sure  you  needn't  have,"  said  Sarah,  flip 
pant,  to  cover  the  fact  that  she  was  a  little  fright 
ened. 

"  I  suppose  it  must  out  sometime  ;  there's  a  fate 
about  such  things.  I  love  you  ! " 

"  What  do  you  mean  !  "  she  cried,  losing  every 
other  feeling  in  indignation.  "How  dare  you 


TAKING   A   PLUNGE.  69 

make  fun  of  me  ?  That  was  the  way  you  began 
with  Linora." 

"  Linora  be  —  don't  mention  that  girl's  name  to 
me  !  "  with  a  sternness  under  which  she  quailed  a 
little.  "  And  don't  even  think  so  blasphemous  a 
thing  as  what  you  said  first.  Does  a  man  feel  his 
whole  frame  convulsed  by  his  jokes  ?  I'm  not  so 
dramatic."  His  voice  was  hoarse  ;  she  felt  a  cur 
rent  through  the  arm  she  held,  —  not  a  trembling, 
but  such  a  thrill  as  results  in  music  from  vibrating 
atoms.  "There!  It's  said,"  he  went  on  dryly. 
"Now,  having  made  a  donkey  of  myself,  I'll  stop. 
Doubtless  I  shall  feel  better  after  the  disclosure, 
though  you  probably  won't  speak  to  me  to-morrow. 
I  don't  suppose  that,  by  any  chance,  you  are  at 
this  moment  madly  in  love  with  me  ?  "  The  specu 
lation  in  his  tone  was  sufficient  to  provoke  a  laugh, 
most  of  all  from  Sarah,  who  was  nervous  enough 
for  any  outbreak.  "  No  ?  I  thought  not.  Well, 
shall  you  speak  to  me  to-morrow  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  hope  so.  Oh,  don't  make  your  voice 
so  hard ! "  she  cried,  overcome  by  an  irresistible 
pity.  "  I  don't  care  if  you  did  mean  it  for  a  joke. 
Just  don't  say  it  any  more." 

"  So  you  don't  feel  disposed  to  have  me  decapi- 
ated?  I  dare  say  not.  A  woman  likes  well 
enough  to  see  a  man  crawling." 

"  You  insult  me  !  "  flashed  the  girl.     "You  need 


70  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

not  class  me  in  such  vile  generalities.  What  sort 
of  women  have  you  known  ?  " 

"None  like  you,"  he  said  softly.  "I  know 
what  you  are,  though  I  am  trying  to  be  rough 
to  you  and  sneer  myself  into  good  behavior.  You 
would  not  like  to  have  me  incontinently  stop  here 
to  kiss  the  toe  of  your  overshoe.  I  might." 

"Because,"  Sarah  went  on,  with  an  awkward 
feeling  that  something  must  be  settled,  "you've 
only  known  me  a  month.  We  shall  be  very  good 
friends,  though,  I  feel,  after  we're  better  ac 
quainted."  Here  she  was  a  little  stung  by  the 
thought  of  Linora. 

"  Only  a  month  ?  I  loved  you  the  first  night  I 
set  eyes  on  you.  You'll  say  that's  a  thing  of 
the  senses  and  you'll  have  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
I  know  your  practical  little  hard-headedness.  If 
I  were  a  hero  in  a  German  romance  and  wore  my 
soul  outside,  like  a  frock-coat,  you  wouldn't  object 
to  my  abruptness.  You  came,  and  I  said,  it  is 
my  angel,  my  deliverance,  my  soul.  No,  I  didn't 
say  anything  ;  I  knelt  before  the  altar  and  covered 
my  eyes." 

They  were  almost  home.  Sarah  was  absolutely 
overawed  by  the  consciousness  of  a  great  fact. 
The  man  might  be  wild,  but  he  was  talking  truth ; 
he  loved  her  in  this  strange  fashion. 

"  If  you  think  you're  to  be  annoyed  by  opening 
your  door  and  stumbling  over  me,"  began  Stephen 


TAKING   A   PLUNGE.  71 

again,  lightly,  "you're  mistaken.  I  shan't  sigh 
across  the  table  ;  I  shan't  leave  verses  under  your 
plate.  The  world  will  go  on  and  the  boarders  stag 
nate  in  ignorance  that  I  am  your  subject.  But  just 
what  I  shall  do  I  can't  decide  to-night :  when  I 
do,  I'll  tell  you." 

He  was  fitting  in  his  key  as  he  finished,  and  let 
Sarah  in,  as  bewildered  as  humanity  has  capacity 
for  being.  Stephen  laughed,  though  his  eyes  were 
like  blue  fire,  quenched  in  suspicious  moisture. 

"I  hope  Bernard's  head  is  better,"  he  said,  com 
fortably,  going  up  stairs.  "Good-night,  Miss 
Ellis.  I  hope  I  haven't  talked  too  much." 

Miss  Phebe  was  in  Sarah's  sitting-room,  putting 
coal  on  the  grate.  "  I  thought  maybe  'twouldn't 
keep  till  you  came  back,"  she  said,  without  turn 
ing,  vigorously  poking,  and  besprinkling  herself 
with  ashes.  "  I'm  glad  you're  getting  acquainted 
with  Mr.  Mann.  He  is  as  good  as  gold.  The 
only  thing  about  him  I  ever  had  to  complain  of 
was  his  treating  Miss  Linora  so.  But  we  can't 
all  be  perfect." 

Next  day,  at  tea,  Miss  Phebe  announced  that  if 
the  boarders  were  in  no  hurry  she  would  like  to  see 
them  in  the  parlor  for  a  few  minutes.  Accordingly, 
there  they  assembled  after  the  meal.  Sarah  had  not 
dared  look  at  Stephen  all  day,  but  he  had  said 
good-morning  and  offered  her  the  butter  in  so  un- 


72  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

• 

concerned  a  manner  that  she  blushed  at  herself  for 
having  had  a  bad  dream  and  one  of  which  she  was 

O 

ashamed. 

The  parlor  at  the  boarding-house  was  less 
attractive  than  any  other  room,  with  its  stiff 
bouquets  of  dried  grasses  and  its  family  photo 
graphs. 

"I've  been  trying  to  make  up  my  mind  about  the 
board,"  said  Miss  Phebe,  coming  in  at  last,  and 
sitting  down  on  a  camp-stool  with  the  air  of  a 
darning-needle  stuck  in. 

"I  vote  we  raise  the  price  a  dollar  a  week,"  said 
Stephen,  breaking  in. 

"No,  you  needn't  take  the  trouble,"  said  Miss 
Phebe,  smiling  at  him.  "  The  fact  is,  I  mean  to 
give  up  my  table."  Everybody  looked  dismayed, 
Miss  Reynolds  severe.  "You  know  I  never 
started  to  keep  a  boarding-house,  only  one  for 
lodging,  and  you  sort  of  persuaded  me  into  having 
a  table;  and  it's  too  much  care.  I  do  this  for 
fun ;  just  to  earn  my  living  and  stay  in  Boston. 
I  don't  want  to  make  money." 

"  Pm  surprised ! "  said  Miss  Reynolds,  with  a 
cutting  emphasis  which  left  it  in  doubt  whether  her 
emotion  had  reference  to  the  last  iact  or  a  preced 
ing  one.  "It's  very  inconvenient  to  go  out  for 
meals  this  weather." 

"There's  a  good  table  next  door,"  said  Miss 
Phebe,  with  not  much  feeling  for  that  particular 


TAKING   A    PLUNGE.  73 

member  of  her  family.  w  And  I  guess  they've  got 
vacant  rooms  there,  too  ! ;' 

"  We  don't  want  to  work  Miss  Phebe  to  death," 
said  Stephen,  coming  to  the  rescue.  "  We  want 
to  stay  with  her,  but  we  can't, — so  let  us  be  good." 

"Is  that  all?  "  asked  Miss  Reynolds,  rising. 

"  Yes,  it  is  ! "  said  the  landlady,  with  emphasis. 

"Miss  Phebe,  how  did  you  happen  to  take 
lodgers  in  the  first  place  ?  "  asked  Linora,  getting 
up  to  lead  Miss  Phebe  over  to  the  sofa,  where  she 
sat  patting  the  bones  which  stood  for  that  lady's 
hand. 

"I  needed  money,  bless  you,  for  I  wanted  to 
live  in  Boston." 

"  Yes,  but  how  ?  When  did  you  come  to  Boston  ? 
What  did  you  do  before?  " 

"  Well,  I  took  care  of  mother ;  she  was  para 
lytic.  Then,  when  she  died,  I  came  here  and  took 
a  house,  and  took  singing-lessons."  Stephen 
looked  up  with  sudden  interest.  "  Oh,  you  didn't 
think  I'd  had  anything  happen  to  me,  did  you  ?  " 
sa'id  Miss  Phebe,  with  good-natured  sarcasm. 
"  You  thought  I  was  only  old  Phebe  Kane,  just 
about  up  to  answering  the  bell  and  bringing  up 
fresh  towels.  I  can  have  my  history,  too,  as  well 
as  the  rest  of  you !  " 

w  I  wish  you  would  tell  us  about  it,"  said  Sarah, 
shyly. 

"There's  nothing  to  tell.     I   sang  in  choir  at 


74  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

home,  and  I  meant  to  sing  here.  I  meant  to  sing 
in  concerts." 

"  And  did  you  ?  "  asked  Linora,  alone  in  not 
fearing  to  stir  up  painful  suggestions. 

"  Once." 

"Where?" 

"In  Music  Hall." 

"  Was  it  a  success  ?  " 

"No,  I  failed." 

"OMissPhebe,  why?" 

"  Because  I  was  so  homely." 

No  extreme  of  delicacy  could  have  kept  down 
curiosity  at  this.  Her  audience  hung  on  her  next 
words. 

"  It  was  an  air  from  an  opera.  I  shan't  tell  you 
what  it  was.  I  used  to  feel  that  I  was  meant  to  go 
on  to  the  stage ;  I  couldn't  help  acting.  That 
night  when  I  sang  I  suppose  I  nodded  my  head 
round,  and  behaved  like  a  fool  generally.  You 
can  guess  how  anything  would  look  acted  out  by 
such  a  face  as  I've  got.  When  I  got  through 
there  was  a  titter,  and  all  the  rows  I  could  see 
were  one  broad  smile.  I  came  home  and  burnt 
my  music,  and  said  to  myself  that  no  living  be 
ing  should  ever  hear  me  sing  again,  and  they 
shan't ! " 

Linora's  nostrils  were  dilating  and  her  mouth 
was  quivering.  "O  Miss  Phebe,  and  you  didn't 
tell  me,  when  I  told  you  all  my  story  !  "  At  which 


TAKING    A   PLUNGE.  75 

remark  Stephen  began  turning  over  the  photograph 
album. 

"There  was  no  call  to,"  said  Miss  Phebe, 
shortly.  "  What  happened  to  you  was  a  trial.  I 
lost  my  chance  through  my  own  stuffiness.  There, 
I've  talked  enough." 

She  left  the  room,  followed  by  Linora,  who  in 
sisted  upon  fondling  her  in  sympathy,  a  kindness 
Miss  Phebe  bore  with  commendable  patience  and 
great  awkwardness. 

Bernard  rose,  too,  to  go  to  the  library  for  an 
evening's  reading.  With  a  wild  fear  that  she  was 
to  be  left  alone  with  her  new  and  embarrassing 
acquaintance,  Sarah  made  her  way  to  the  door,  with 
as  much  dignity  as  could  be  indicated  by  lack  of 
haste. 

"  Miss  Ellis,"  came  softly  from  the  table,  just  as 
Bernard  found  his  hat  and  went  out.  Sarah 
looked  round ;  Stephen  was  still  turning  over  the 
album.  "  I'm  very  anxious  to  say  something  to 
you,  and  I  don't  want  to  say  it  in  the  hall."  Sarah 
came  a  few  steps  nearer,  and  Stephen  drew  for 
ward  a  chair. 

"  Please  sit;  well,  then,  I  must  stand  too.  I've 
decided." 

': About  what?" 

"  What  to  do  in  regard  to  being  in  love  with 
you."  Could  mortal  man  be  serious  and  yet  speak 
in  so  softly  reflective  a  tone  ?  And  yet  she  could 


76  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

not  doubt  him.  She  took  one  step  away  and  then 
paused  again.  "  I've  decided  to  keep  on."  Now  he 
was  looking  at  her,  and  her  eyes  would  not  sustain 
her  in  the  combat.  "It  isn't  the  point  as  to 
whether  I  keep  on  loving  you ;  that's  decided  for 
me.  I  shall  do  that  in  my  grave.  But  as  to 
troubling  you  with  the  tender  of  it,  —  that  was 
what  weighed  on  me." 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Sarah,  gaining  courage  and  mis 
chief  at  the  same  moment. 

"  I  have  decided  that  I  remain  a  suppliant  till 
you  reach  me  a  gracious  hand." 

"  I  shall  never  do  that ! "  flashed  the  girl,  the 
suggestion  of  surrender  like  a  sting. 

"Very  well,  then,  I  shall  stay." 

"  Mr.  Mann,  if  you  say  such  things  to  me,  I 
shall  be  obliged  to  avoid  you.  I'll  do  anything — 
I'll  move  away  from  here." 

Stephen  looked  at  her  with  an  admiring  smile. 
His  eyes  were  dangerous  in  their  mastery.  He 
seemed  to  himself  dangerous. 

"Are  you  honestly  sure,"  he  said,  compelling 
her  eyes  to  meet  his,  "  that  you  are  not  willing  I 
should  love  you  ?  " 

A  slow  blush  came  into  her  cheeks  and  stung 
her  forehead.  "No,"  she  said  at  last.  "  I  daresay 
I  like  it  —  if  I  don't  see  you.  Oh,  what  a  shame 
ful  creature  I  am  !  " 

"If  you  don't  see  me?     Then  I'm  a  monster?" 


TAKING    A    PLUNGE.  77 

"  How  can  you  lead  me  on  so  !  I  mean  if  I  were 
never  to  see  you  again." 

"I  understand.  You'd  like  to  have  me  in  China, 
wearing  the  willow  under  your  feet.  That  cannot 
be,  unless  you  become  a  celestial  citizen.  Now  it 
is  a  very  painful  sort  of  thing  to  love  and  have  no 
expression  of  one's  feelings  ;  therefore  I  shall  not 
be  silent.  To-morrow  morning  I  shall  send  you 
a  rose,  and  you  will  wear  it  at  your  throat,  or  in 
your  hair  just  behind  the  ear." 

"  You  may  be  sure  I  shall  not,"  she  cried,  flying 
baffled  up  stairs.  And  she  kept  her  word,  leaving 
the  great  velvet  creature  to  wither  on  her  bureau, 
and  there  it  looked  so  pathetic  that,  after  breakfast, 
she  put  it  in  a  glass  of  water  on  a  shelf  in  her 
closet. 

"  So  you  didn't  wear  it  ?  "  said  Stephen,  glancing 
at  her  incidentally  as  they  were  left  alone  at  table. 
She  had  gone  late  to  avoid  him ;  he  proved  late 
also.  Sarah  vouchsafed  no  answer.  "  Never  mind ," 
said  he,  placidly,  as  he  rose  to  go.  "I  think,  on 
the  whole,  I'd  rather  you  would  not  wear  flowers 
till  I  pin  them  on  for  you." 

Bernard  had  guessed  at  their  secret  understand 
ing,  though  he  had  not  accredited  it  as  going  so  far. 
It  was  like  a  blow  to  see  any  other  man's  time 
and  service  at  her  command.  He  grew  moody 
and  churlish,  refusing  to  drop  into  Stephen's  room, 
as  he  had  once  done  every  night.  The  other  man 


78  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

wondered  a  little,  and  then  set  his  coolness  down 
to  jealousy,  though  necessarily  of  a  fraternal  sort. 

Stephen  went  on  his  way,  apparently  careless 
and  at  ease.  He  exchanged  a  word  with  Sarah 
now  and  then,  sometimes  neglecting  her  for  so  long 
that  she  began  to  draw  a  breath  of  relief  and  re 
gret  that  it  was  all  really  over.  Being  honest,  she 
shamefacedly  confessed  to  the  regret  in  her  own 
heart.  She  was  young  and  full  of  a  nervous  vital 
ity  ;  the  new  circumstances  filled  her  with  a  kind 
of  animal  elation ;  moreover,  she  was  recovering 
from  the  physical  strain  attendant  on  her  mother's 
illness,  asod  was  still  in  a  supersensitive  mental 
state  from  the  fact  of  her  death.  Excitement  was 
welcome,  and  Stephen  had  been  food  for  thought. 

"  Promise  me,  dear,"  said  Linora  one  day,  after 
a  protracted  account  of  her  latest  troubles,  "prom 
ise  me  you  won't  talk  me  over  with  Stephen  Mann. 
No,  I  know  you  don't  exchange  three  words  a 
week  with  him,  but  you  may.  Promise  !  " 

"I  can't,  dear,"  said  Sarah,  angry  with  herself 
for  flushing,  with  those  clear  eyes  on  her  face.  "I 
might  want  to  praise  you,  you  know.  But  I  do 
promise  I  never  will  except  for  your  good." 

"  What  people  invariably  say  before  a  particu 
larly  nasty  dose  !  "  said  Linora,  with  a  grimace. 

But  Sarah  laughed  and  shook  her  head,  and  the 
postman  saved  her.  A  letter  was  brought  in  for 
Linora.  She  came  back  to  her  seat,  and,  holding 


TAKING   A   PLUNGE.  79 

it   tightly,  looked  at  Sarah  with  slowly  dilating 
eyes  and  quivering  lips. 

"  What  is  it,  dear?  "  cried  Sarah  in  quick  sym 
pathy.  Linora's  universe,  to  her  thinking,  was  a 
fabric  always  in  imminent  danger  of  being  dis 
solved.  "Open  it ;  it  may  not  be  bad  news." 

"  Oh  my  dear,  my  dear  !  "  said  Linora,  shaking 
her  head  mournfully,  "  if  you  knew  what  his  let 
ters  can  be !  Some  new  calamity,  some  new 
cruelty  in  each  !  " 

"  Come,  let  me  tear  it  open." 

"  No,  no  ;  you  couldn't  save  me  from  reading  it 
finally.''  She  walked  to  the  window  and  stood 
there,  reading  slowly.  Sarah  watched  her,  her 
heart  in  arms,  ready  to  succor.  At  last  Linora 
crumpled  the  sheet  in  her  hand,  and  came  back,  to 
sink  at  the  other  girl's  feet  and  bury  her  face  in 
her  lap.  "  Oh,  I  deserve  pity  —  I  know  I  do  ! " 
she  sobbed.  "And  he  has  always  been  cruel  to 
me,  always  !  " 

Sarah  stroked  her  hair  and  dried  her  eyes  in 
pitying  silence.  Then  she  tried  to  be  equal  to  the 
emergency  in  some  sort  of  practical  help.  She 
had  always  occasion  to  flagellate  herself  after  a 
one-sided  confidence  of  this  kind,  at  the  remem 
brance  that  she  had  only  sympathized  and  never 
proposed  a  remedy. 

"Now  let  us  consider,  Linora,"  she  said,  men 
tally  stiffening  her  own  backbone.  "You  are  not 


80  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

in  your  uncle's  power.  He  can't  treat  you  like  a 
child,  or  shut  you  up  in  a  convent." 

"  No,  but  I  am  so  young,  you  see ;  only  seven 
teen,  Sarah,  and  he  can  call  me  about  from  place 
to  place,  or  put  an  end  to  my  winter  here,  for  I 
haven't  a  cent  out  of  his  control." 

"Ah,  that  is  a  difficulty,  an  actual  one,"  said 
Sarah,  tightening  her  lips  and  musing.  "  But  it 
isn't  at  all  likely  he  will  do  it,  Linora.  It  isn't  in 
nature." 

"You  don't  know  his  nature.  And  there  are 
other  things  I  can't  tell  you  —  things  you  wouldn't 
believe.  My  dear  girl,  you  don't  know  what 
trouble  is." 

So  the  usual  petting  followed,  and  the  practical 
sympathy  proved  as  unsubstantial  a  phantom  as 
ever. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

LAYING   A   TRAIN. 

HHHE  course  of  events  brought  about  the  fulfil- 
-*-  ment  of  Riker's  prophecy  with  marvellous  ex 
actness.  Leonard  Sparrow  was  now  Professor 
Leonard,  Test  Medium,  and  saw  his  name  at  last 
on  a  black  sign  in  letters  of  gold.  He  had  adopt 
ed  his  Christian  name  as  his  professional  one,  at 
Riker's  suggestion.  Riker  had  conceived  the  idea 
that  when  the  young  man  should  become  well 
known  and  prosperous,  a  score  of  relatives  might 
start  up  to  divide  the  proceeds.  This  his  tutor 
had  no  idea  of  allowing.  Uncle  Ben  demurred  a 
little  at  the  assumption  of  the  name,  but  submitted 
when  Riker  told  him  that  the  influences  had  stren 
uously  insisted  on  it,  without  giving  a  reason. 

Mrs.  Riker  had  gone  West,  as  her  husband  said, 
with  a  sigh,  because  he  and  Julia  were  no  longer 
•congenial ;  therefore  he  had  moved  into  a  room 
adjoining  Len's  office  and  kept  a  constant  and  vigi 
lant  guardianship  over  him.  Len  was  not  sorry 
for  this,  and  would  not  have  objected  had  it  im 
plied  a  companionship  ten  times  closer.  Riker 
was  invariably  kind  to  him,  even  good-natured, 
when  the  boy's  scruples  proved  a  dead  wall  to  his 

81 


82  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

suggestions ;  and,  indeed,  Len's  simplicity  often 
stood  in  the  way  of  his  choicest  plans.  One  day, 
soon  after  the  sign  had  been  hung  out,  a  visitor 
was  shown  into  the  waiting-room,  whose  circum 
stances  Riker  chanced  to  know.  He  called  the 
medium  into  his  own  room,  and  briefly  rehearsed 
them  to  him. 

"  Her  name  is  Vincent ;  she  has  lost  a  daugh 
ter,"  he  said,  rapidly,  while  Len  stared  at  him  in 
the  vacuous  way  he  sometimes  had.  "  Her 
daughter  died  two  months  ago,  a  blond — light 
hair  and  eyes,  remember  —  name,  Mary.  Under 
stand?" 

"Yes,"  said  Len.  "Poor  woman  !  Shall  I  go 
in  now  ?  " 

"Yes,  and  you'd  better  tell  her  to  keep  on  try 
ing  to  find  means  of  communicating  with  her  daugh 
ter,  and  soon  they  will  be  satisfactory.  Tell  her 
to  go  among  mediums,  into  a  spiritual  atmosphere. 
I've  just  had  a  communication  to  that  eflect.  Go 
along." 

It  was  not  half  an  hour  before  the  medium  came 
back  again.  "  Well  ?  "  asked  his  master,  impa 
tiently.  Mrs.  Vincent,  once  secured,  would  be  a 
valuable  patron.  Len  was  evidently  much  moved. 

"I  can't  help  it,"  he  said,  wiping  his  eyes.  "It's 
awful  to  see  anybody  cry  so." 

"What  did  you  tell  her?" 

"I  told  her  I  couldn't  see  a  thing,  and  gave  her 


LAYING   A   TRAIN.  83 

back  her  money,"  said  Len,  unconscious  of  the 
effect  he  was  producing.  "  Wa'n't  it  too  bad,  when 
she  cried  so  ?  " 

Riker  laid  down  the  pencil  with  which  he  was 
writing  his  next  inspired  lecture,  and  looked  at 
the  boy  in  silence.  Len  went  to  the  mirror  and 
brushed  his  hair,  with  a  growing  smile  over  his 
eminently  satisfactory  appearance.  His  watch- 
chain  had  been  new  only  the  day  before,  and  had 
not  yet  lost  its  power  of  keeping  his  undivided  at 
tention. 

"  Didn't  you  see  Aunt  Peggy  ?  "  asked  his  mas 
ter,  at  last,  in  a  scrupulously  even  voice. 

"No,  I  couldn't  see  a  thing  but  the  chairs  and 
tables,"  trying  the  effect  of  a  longer  loop  in  his 
chain. 

"  Didn't  you  say  anything  to  comfort  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  told  her  you  said  she'd  better  keep  going 
around  among  mediums."  Biker  groaned  ;  then 
he  made  one  more  effort  at  the  instilling  of  first 
principles  into  Len's  benighted  mind. 

"  Len,  it's  your  duty  to  say  something  to  com 
fort  people,"  he  began,  gravely.  "  The  spirits 
have  put  you  here  to  do  a  great  work,  and  when 
you  refuse  to  do  it,  you  are  committing  sin.  When 
people  come  to  you,  you  can  always  say  something 
that  will  be  satisfactory." 

"  I  can't,"  said  Len,  almost  in  tears.  "  I  ain't 
bright,  like  you ;  bright  things  don't  come  into 


84  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

my  head.  And  how  can  I  say  I  see  things  when  I 
don't?"  he  added  triumphantly,  as  a  final  and  un 
answerable  argument.  Biker  could  say  no  more. 
He  dared  not  hint  at  the  advisability  of  lying, 
until  the  pupil's  mind  should  be  ready  for  such  an 
advance. 

But  Len,  in  spite  of  his  unambitious  simplicity, 
was  wonderfully  prosperous.  His  honesty  im 
pressed  people, —  a  circumstance  Riker  was  not 
slow  at  marking,  and  which  made  him  all  the  more 
anxious  not  to  conceal  this  trump-card  too  effect 
ually.  When  the  real  virtue  was  gone,  its  coun 
terfeit  must  be  left.  It  was  surprising  that  so 
many  people  were  satisfied  by  the  few  things  the 
boy  had  to  say.  He  saw  an  old  lady  ;  that  almost 
invariably  stood  for  the  dead-and-gone  ancestor  of 
the  questioner.  Often  she  had  much  to  say ;  how 
ever  it  might  have  been  accounted  for,  most  of 
Lcn's  simple  reflections  seemed  to  him  to  come 
from  her  lips,  and,  clothed  in  the  high-flown 
phraseology  he  caught  from  Riker  on  the  lecture 
platform,  they  were  generally  satisfactory.  He 
had  certain  office  days  in  the  week ;  on  others  he 
accompanied  Riker  in  his  shortest  trips  about  the 
country.  It  fed  Len's  vanity  to  be  regarded,  in 
small  towns,  as  the  friend  and  colleague  of  a  great 
man.  There  was  usually  a  circle  of  spiritualists 
wherever  they  stopped,  who  received  them  hos 
pitably,  heaping  social  honors  upon  thorn.  Simple 


LAYING    A    TRAIN.  85 

and  worshipping  women  sent  Riker  buttonhole 
bouquets  to  be  worn  on  the  platform,  and  some 
times  Len  came  in  for  his  share  of  floral  tributes. 
His  simple,  innocent  vanity  grew  like  a  mushroom. 
He  was  a  great  man  now ;  what  a  pity  the  poor- 
house  boys  could  not  see  him  !  Still,  they  never 
would  guess  who  he  was. 

One  day  of  this  same  winter,  an  early  visitor 
stood  nervously  in  the  waiting-room,  grasping  his 
stick  and  hat,  and  smiling  with  impatience.  It 
was  Uncle  Ben  in  company  array  ;  all  excitement 
at  the  prospect  of  meeting  his  boy  again.  This 
was  the  fii«t  time  since  their  farewell  at  Coventry. 
Len  came  in,  giving  his  faultless  coat  a  last  affec 
tionate  brush  with  his  fat  white  hand. 

"  Why,  Uncle  Ben  !  Why,  why  !  "  he  began, 
and  then  ran  forward  to  seize  the  old  man  by  both 
hands  and  smile  speechlessly  in  broad  delight. 

"  Well,  well !  "  said  Uncle  Ben  at  last,  extricat 
ing  himself  and  stooping  to  pick  up  his  hat  and 
stick,  which  had  fallen  unobserved,  and  then  care 
fully  wiping  the  hat  with  his  handkerchief  as  a 
diversion  for  his  feelings.  Len  kept  one  hand  on 
his  shoulder,  stroking  the  homely  gray  coat.  He 
had  not  known  how  dear  the  old  life  was  until  the 
breath  of  its  atmosphere  drifted  in. 

"  Well,  well,  Lenny,"  said  Uncle  Ben,  when  the 
hat  no  longer  served  as  a  pretext,  "  we  old  folks 
get  into  a  second  childhood  before  we  know  it ;  but 


86  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

it  ain't  any  disgrace  to  have  to  wipe  your  eyes," 
suiting  the  action  to  the  word.  "You  look  well, 
Lenny.  You  look  prosperous." 

Len  glanced  down  at  his  well-made  clothes,  and 
involuntarily  settled  his  blue  necktie. 

"  You've  made  it  well  by  going  away  ;  but  that 
ain't  the  main  thing.  It's  everything  to  be  doin' 
such  good  ;  bein'  such  a  medium  as  you  have  made 
is  a  great  callin',  Lenny.  Don't  you  forget  your 
responsibilities." 

"No,  Uncle  ;  but  how's  Aunt  Maria? " 

"  Maria,  she's  well,  an'  she  sent  you  a  whole 
carpet-bag  full  of  things.  It'll  do  Maria's  heart 
good  to  know  how  well  you  look ;  she  won't  have 
it  but  the  professor's  cross  to  you." 

"  Oh  my,  no  ! "  cried  Len,  laughing  at  the  very 
idea. 

"  Needn't  tell  me,  boy ;  I  know  him.  He's  got 
your  good  at  heart,  if  ever  anybody  had  a  good 
heart  for  anybody  else.  I  wanted  Maria  to  send 
him  some  things,  too,  for  fear  he  should  feel  sort 
o'  touched,  you  know,  but  she  wouldn't.  When 
Maria  gets  anything  into  her  head,  it's  there  !  an' 
she  never  liked  the  professor.  Now,  Lenny, 
you'll  give  me  a  sittin'  ?  " 

"  O  Uncle,  I  can't  bear  to  take  up  the  time  so  !  " 
cried  Len,  in  weariness  at  being  perpetually  hag 
ridden.  "  I'd  rather  talk. " 

'*  Yes,  yes,  so  you  shall ;  that's  all  right  enough 


LAYING    A    TRAIN.  87 

—  but  you  don't  want  me  to  come  all  the  way  up 
here  an'  go  home  without  seem'  how  you've  de 
veloped  !  No,  no  !  Well,  if  there  ain't  the  pro 
fessor  ! " 

Kiker  came  in,  with  beaming  countenance  and 
outstretched  hand.  It  did  Len's  heart  good  to  see 
the  two  people  he  so  admired  and  loved,  on  such 
terms  with  each  other. 

"Now  I  begin  to  get  over  being  hurt  in  think 
ing  you  haven't  been  to  see  us  !  "  cried  Riker.  "  I 
hope  you're  going  to  stay  a  month  !  " 

"No,  no,  that  wouldn't  do,"  said  Uncle  Ben, 
beaming  at  what  he  considered  a  reception  far  be 
yond  his  deserts.  "  Maria  wanted  me  to  make  a 
visit  on't,  but  I  am  too  old  for  that.  We  old  ones 
are  better  on't  at  home.  This  changin'  beds  in 
winter  time  can't  help  bein'  bad  for  old  bones. 
No,  I  shall  have  to  go  home  to-night." 

"  Oh,  not  to-night,  uncle  !  "  cried  Len. 

"Yes,  Lenny,  so  it's  got  to  be.  I  don't  know 
what  possessed  me  to  come  on  a  journey  in  winter 
weather,  but  a  while  ago  it  was  borne  in  on  me  I 
must  see  Lenny,  an'  I  said,  if  there's  a  warm  spell 
I'll  go.  So  when  this  thaw  come,  I  couldn't  go 
agin  my  word." 

A  caller  for  Professor  Leonard  was  shown  into 
the  hall.  Len  looked  appealingly  at  his  master. 
"  I  can't  see  anybody  when  uncle's  here." 

"No,   no,    Lenny,    don't   turn   anybody   away 


88  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

empty,"  said  the  old  man.  "It  might  be  some 
good  you  never  could  make  up  in  all  your  life. 
No,  I'll  talk  with  the  professor  a  little  while,  an' 
if  he's  busy,  I'll  take  a  nap." 

The  professor  was  unctuously  ready  to  be  of 
service,  and  was  not  at  all  busy.  He  proposed  a 
walk, — a  look  at  the  State  House,  and  a  call 
upon  a  medium  of  great  popularity.  So  they 
left  Len  sorely  and  boyishly  disappointed,  feeling 
his  vocation  to  be  more  of  an  old  man  of  the  sea 
than  ever. 

This  was  the  opportunity  Biker  had  longed  for 
—  and  for  which  a  visit  to  Coventry  within  Maria's 
jurisdiction  would  hardly  have  sufficed. 

"  Well,  an' how's  Lenny  gettin' along  ?"  asked 
Uncle  Ben,  when  they  were  once  outside.  "You 
think  he  develops,  don't  you?  " 

"Think,  my  dear  sir  !  I  know  there  isn't  a  more 
wonderful  case  in  the  country.  He  develops 
slowly,  but  we  must  have  patience,  you  know." 

"Yes,  yes;  the  Lord  brings  out  His  revelation 
pretty  slow.  We  musn't  get  our  backs  up  an' 
pretend  we  could  plan  things  better.  I've  got 
beyond  that,  little's  I  know.  Now  how  is  it 
about  money  ?  Does  Lenny  need  more  for  his  ex 
penses  ?  " 

"No,"  said. Hiker  thoughtfully,  wondering  how 
far  he  dared  go.  "  No,  not  for  his  immediate  ex 
penses.  He  makes  enough  for  those,  and  when 


LAYING    A    TRAIN.  8U 

he  doesn't  regularly,  I  always  supply  what  he 
lacks." 

"  That  mustn't  be  !  "  said  Uncle  Ben  promptly. 
"You've  got  ways  enough  for  your  money,  I'll 
warrant,  —  a  man  that  does  as  much  good  as  you 
do.  No,  you  must  let  me  send  Lenny  a  bill  once 
in  a  while." 

"Ah,  that's  very  kind,"  said  Hiker,  smiling, 
"  but  you  don't  know  how  independent  he  has 
grown.  I  don't  believe  he'd  take  it ;  when  I  help 
him  out,  I  have  to  do  it  on  the  sly." 

"Now  you  don't  say!"  cried  Uncle  Ben,  de 
lighted.  "  Well,  I  do'  know  as  I  like  him  any  the 
worse  for  that.  He'll  get  over  it  by  the  time  he's 
as  old  as  I  am.  We  all  have  to  find  out  there's 
nobody  but  what  has  to  have  things  done  for  him. 
But  I'd  rather  he'd  begin  by  bein'  independent. 
Now  what  say  to  my  sendin'  the  money  to  you  ?  " 

"  Capital,  if  you  can  trust  my  judgment  about 
spending  it." 

"  Don't  you  say  another  word  !  You'll  know  how 
to  lay  it  out,  an'  you  can  do  it  so  he'll  never  have 
to  be  worried.  It's  pretty  hard  for  you  that  have 
so  much  hard  work  to  do,  to  have  to  think  about 
what  you  shall  eat  and  wear." 

"  Well,  I'm  greatly  relieved,"  said  Hiker,  watch 
ing  him  furtively.  "  At  least  Leonard  never  will 
want  while  you  live,  and  if  he  should  survive  you, 
I  should  try  to  look  out  for  him."  They  walked 


90  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

along  in  silence  for  a  few  minutes,  Biker  still 
craftily  keeping  the  corner  of  his  eye  open  to  the 
old  man's  expression. 

"  I  do'  know  but  what  I've  done  wrong  not  to 
make  some  provision  for  Lenny,"  said  Uncle  Ben, 
thoughtfully.  "I  ain't  likely  to  last  forever,  nor 
Maria  after  me,  an'  I  meant  what  property  I 
had  should  go  to  him.  I  sort  o'  wish  I'd  made 
my  will  before  I  put  myself  in  a  place  of  danger 
comin'  up  here  on  the  cars.  But  then,  what's  the 
Lord's  will's  sure  to  come,  whether  you're  asleep 
in  your  bed,  or  in  a  train  of  cars." 

"A  will  is  the  only  safe  thing,"  said  Hiker 
quietly ;  then,  turning  suddenly,  with  a  great 
burst  of  frankness,  he  went  on:  "You  must  not 
think  I  speak  too  plainly.  I  do  speak  plainly,  I 
know,  but  it  comes  from  my  great  affection  for 
Leonard." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  understand,"  said  Uncle  Ben, 
trudging  sturdily  along,  emphasizing  the  points  of 
his  sentence  with  his  stout  stick.  "  You've  got  a 
great  heart  as  well  as  a  clear  head.  'Tain't  every 
body's  got  such  feelin's  as  you  have  ;  an'  I  always 
feel  as  if  you  was  under  influence  to  speak." 

"  Then  perhaps  I  might  as  well  go  on  and  speak 
further.  If  you  ever  do  make  a  will  in  Len's 
favor,  I  hope  you'll  do  it  in  the  safest  way.  I 
wonder  if  you've  noticed  one  of  his  traits  ?  He's 
as  good  as  gold,  but  he's  what  worldly  people 


LAYING    A    TRAIN.  91 

would  call  simple  about  some  things,  —  business 
and  money,  you  know." 

"Yes,  he's  one  of  the  Lord's  triumphs;  I've 
always  thought  of  that.  He's  bringin'  the  revela 
tion  out  o'  the  mouths  o'  babes." 

"Now  if  Len  should  have  absolute  control  of 
money,  it  would  be  cheated  out  of  him  in  a  year. 
He'd  never  go  to  the  bad,  but  he'd  fall  into  the 
hands  of  sharpers  and  speculators." 

"Yes,  yes,  there's  reason  in  that." 

"  And  you  know  there  are  periods  in  spiritual 
development  when  we  must  rest ;  we  can't  do 
anything  but  render  ourselves  receptive.  Now 
such  a  period  might  come  upon  Len  when  his 
money  was  all  spent.  What  could  he  live  on  ?  I 
should  help  him,  but  I  am  a  poor  man,  and  likely 
to  be,  and  I  have  my  family  troubles  that  take 
money." 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure.  It's  everything  to  be 
long-headed,  ain't  it?  I  never  was.  You  just  go 
on  an'  talk  it  out  for  me." 

"Well,  I  should  suggest  that  you  leave  what 
money  you  have  for  Len  in  the  hands  of  some 
competent  business  man,  who,  though  Len  might 
be  of  age  himself,  would  act  as  a  sort  of  guardian 
over  him." 

"  That's  a  good  thing,  an'  I'm  obliged  to  you," 
said  Uncle  Ben  ;  and  here,  at  the  medium's  door, 
the  subject  was  dropped. 


92  FOOLS  OF  NATURE. 

When  they  were  once  more  at  home  they  found 
Len  busy  with  waiting  visitors.  Uncle  Ben 
seemed  not  to  be  disappointed,  but  sat  down  by 
himself  in  Hiker's  room,  evidently  turning  things 
over  in  his  mind.  Riker  left  him  to  himself  for  a 
while  and  then  came  in,  proposing  to  give  him  a 
sitting.  Leonard  was  busy,  and  might  be  so  half 
the  afternoon,  and  there  were  influences  crowd 
ing  round.  The  room  was  full  of  faces,  Riker 
said. 

"  I  guess  so,  now  !  "  cried  Uncle  Ben  delight 
edly.  "  Ain't  willin'  I  should  have  to  have  my 
journey  for  nothin',  are  they?  I  told  Maria  so. 
But  they  must  just  wait  a  minute.  Professor, 
I've  got  a  great  favor  to  ask  of  you." 

"  Anything  in  my  power  to  do,"  said  Riker,  his 
small  eyes  gleaming  impatiently.  "  Anything  in 
the  world  in  my  power  is  at  your  service." 

"  It's  to  let  me  appoint  you  Lenny's  guardeen 
in  my  will." 

"  My  dear  sir ! "  said  the  professor,  standing 
back  and  shaking  his  head.  "  Such  a  trust  as  that  ? 
No,  no,  I'm  not  fit  for  the  responsibility." 

"  Now  I  begin  to  feel  disapp'inted,"  said  Uncle 
Ben.  "  I  thought  you  was  the  right  man  for  it, 
an'  I  thought  you'd  jump  to  do  good  to  anybody." 
Riker  held  up  a  warning  finger. 

"  Sh-h  ! "  he  whispered,  inclining  his  head  to 
listen.  His  eyes  closed  and  his  face  twitched  con- 


LAYING    A   TRAIN.  93 

vulsively.  —  "Well,  it's  settled!"  he  went  on, 
presently,  opening  his  eyes  and  smiling  faintly. 
"  The  influences  are  too  much  for  me  ;  I  often  have 
to  submit  my  will  to  theirs.  They  tell  me  to  do 
as  you  say,  and  if  I  feel  myself  unfit  for  such  a 
task,  they  will  aid  me." 

"  There  !  how  bright  things  do  turn  out  in  the 
end  !  "  cried  Uncle  Ben.  "Here  I  was,  five  min 
utes  ago,  all  worried  and  unsettled  ;  and  here  I  am, 
my  way  all  marked  out  for  me  by  them  that  knows 
more'u  I  do.  No  wronder  I  was  impressed  to  come 
to  Boston ! " 

In  the  course  of  the  next  hour's  discussion  as 
to  the  provisions  of  the  will,  Riker  had  also  pre 
pared  for  a  stance.  The  curtains  were  drawn,  the 
door  locked,  and  his  arm-chair  placed  beside  Uncle 
Ben's.  Then  they  went  on  talking,  in  the  midst 
of  which  Riker  suddenly  closed  his  eyes,  his  face 
becoming  set  and  his  voice  unnatural. 

"  I  s'pose  the  medium  hasn't  got  anything  to  do 
with  what's  goin'  to  be  said  to  me  ?  "  began  Uncle 
Ben.  "  I  mean,  he  won't  hear  it." 

"  The  medium  is  quite  unconscious,"  returned 
Riker. 

"Well,  now,  I  want  to  ask  for  a  test;  not  for 
me  ;  for  somebody  else  that  don't  believe.  Some 
body  told  me,  when  I  was  talkin'  of  comin'  here, 
that  I'd  better  not  have  a  sittin'  with  the  professor, 
because  he's  talked  me  over  with  Lenny  and  Len- 


94  FOOLS    OF   NATUliE. 

ny's  told  him  all  about  our  family  and  the  folks 
that's  died.  Now  who  told  me  that?" 

"  The  name  is  quite  clear,"  said  the  medium, 
slowly.  "  We  will  spell  it.  Ma-ri-a,  Maria." 

"Now  if  that  ain't  a  test !  "  cried  the  old  man, 
rubbing  his  hands.  "  Why,  this  is  wuth  comin'  to 
Boston  for.  Now  how  about  what  I  was  talkin' 
over  with  the  professor  ;  had  I  better  do  it  ?  " 

"  It  was  what  we  brought  you  to  Boston  for," 
returned  the  voice.  "  We  have  been  influencing 
you  Tor  a  long  time.  Your  mind  was  all  ready, 
and  then  we  brought  you  up  here.  We  knew 
what  to  do." 

"  I  guess  you  did  !  I  guess  you  mostly  do  know 
more'n  we  poor  creatur's  that  don't  have  no 
wisdom  but  what  comes  to  us  here.  You  must 
help  me  write  the  will ;  put  me  up  to  what  to  say 
to  the  lawyer." 

"Yes,  we'll  be  there;  but  we  want  you  to  re 
member  one  thing,  —  don't  tell  Maria." 

"Not  tell  Maria  about  the  will?  Now  I  should 
like  to  know  why." 

"  She  would  be  unhappy.  Some  bad  spirits 
have  got  hold  of  her,  and  they  make  her  hate  the 
medium.  She  thinks  he  would  cheat  the  money 
all  away." 

"Now  ain't  that  queer?"  said  the  old  man  to 
himself.  "  Maria  don't  like  him ;  she  can't  bear 
him.  Strange  folks  shouldn't  believe,  when  tests 


LAYING   A   TRAIN.  95 

come  out  like  this.  — What  shall  I  do  about  Maria 
in  the  will  ?  " 

"  Leave  her  half,  and  let  it  go  to  the  boy  after 
her  death." 

"I  do'  know's  I  can  do  that,"  said  Uncle  Ben 
slowly ;  "  still,  Maria's  got  bank-stock.  She'll 
never  want.  Who  is  it  talkin'  to  me  ?  " 

"  'Squire  John." 

"I  might  ha'  known  it.  There  ain't  a  lawyer 
round  anywhere  to  compare.  How  about  your 
fee  this  time,  'squire?" 

"  Give  it  to  the  medium,"  returned  the  voice  ;  at 
which  Uncle  Ben  laughed,  as  having  got  the  worst 
of  it. 

The  interview  lasted  over  an  hour,  at  the  end 
of  which  time  Len  came  in  exhausted,  having 
finished  his  own  engagements.  Eiker  opened  his 
eyes,  and  conversation  resumed  its  ordinary  tone. 

"Professor,  do  you  know  what  you've  been 
doin'?"  asked  Uncle  Ben,  solemnly. 

"No,"  answered  the  professor,  with  a  start  that 
might  have  been  ascribed  to  guilt.  In  fact,  the 
answer  was  true  ;  his  deeds  were  too  numerous  to 
be  classified. 

"You've  gi'n  me  more'n  twenty  names  of  folks 
that  have  passed  into  spirit  life  from  Coventry 
alone,  an'  messages  from  more'n  half.  I  ain't  had 
such  a  feast,  no,  nor  such  tests,  since  I've  been  a 
believer." 


96  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

The  professor  declared  himself  humbly  de 
lighted,  and  only  accepted  a  fee  of  ten  times  the 
usual  amount,  with  the  second  thought  that  he 
could  use  it  in  sending  specimen  copies  of  the 
"  Spiritual  Messenger  "  to  unbelievers. 

Uncle  Ben  went  home  scarcely  disappointed  at 
having  had  merely  a  glimpse  of  Leonard.  That 
was  enough  to  show  him  as  well  and  happy  ;  and 
finding  him  a  man  of  business  amply  compensated 
for  the  loss  of  his  society.  Len  insisted  on  pack 
ing  into  the  emptied  carpet-bag,  with  his  own 
hands,  a  parcel  for  Maria  containing  a  dress  and 
a  pair  of  long  ear-rings. 

"  You  tell  her  I'm  well,  and  having  a  jolly  time," 
he  called  in  at  the  window,  as  the  train  moved 
away. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

REVELATIONS. 

TT7HEN  Miss  Phebe's  entire  household  were 
*  asked  to  leave  her  hospitable  table,  two  of 
the  members  made  a  pleasing  amendment  to  that 
proposition.  One  night,  as  Sarah  and  Bernard, 
jubilant  after  a  long  walk,  were  passing  a  kitchen- 
furnishing  store,  Sarah  stopped  before  the  window, 
bright  with  tin  and  illuminated  with  brass. 

"  Bernard,  come  !  "  and  she  drew  him  in.  He 
stood  by  in  wonder,  while  she  bought  a  small 
tea-pot ;  but  questions  were  to  no  purpose  till  he 
had  been  eonvoyed  here  and  there  for  sugar, 
tea,  and  a  couple  of  cheap  little  cups. 

"  We  shall  not  go  to  the  ogress'  den  to-night, 
my  hearty,"  said  Sarah,  on  tiptoe  with  delight  at 
a  new  thing.  "  We  shall  buy  a  frugal  lunch,  and 
then  we  shall  make  a  festive  cup  of  tea  in  our 
sitting-room." 

So  that  evening  the  tea  was  steeped  over  the 
coals  of  the  grate,  and  two  spoons  borrowed  of 
Miss  Phebe.  Spoons  had  been  forgotten  in  the 
midst  of  household  purchasing.  Bernard  was  in 
high  feather  that  night ;  he  had  been  happy  all 
that  afternoon,  with  Sarah  to  himself.  But  there 

97 


98  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

came  a  knock  at  the  door  which  was  destined  to 
overturn  his  cup  of  joy.  Sarah  went  to  the  door, 
to  find  Stephen  in  gala  array. 

"I  have  come  to  call,"  he  said,  with  great  gravity. 
"I  have  never  called  on  my  new  neighbors.  I 
have  put  on  a  claw-hammer  coat,  in  which  I  am 
sufficiently  miserable,  and  I  have  a  flower  in  my 
button-hole." 

"  Come  in,  by  all  means,"  said  Sarah,  merry  and 
annoyed.  Seeing  him  always  brought  some  change 
of  her  mood,  —  a  curious  disturbance  of  her  life- 
forces.  "Bernard,  Mr.  Mann,  has  come  to  be 
polite  to  you." 

Bernard  shook  hands  with  him,  and  hated  him 
self  for  hating  Stephen's  air  of  general  adaptability. 

"We  are  having  tea,"  said  Sarah  shyly,  not 
quite  knowing  what  to  do  with  her  guest,  now  he 
was  there.  "  Will  you  have  some  ?  " 

"I  will  have  some  by  all  means,"  said  Stephen, 
disposing  himself  comfortably.  "  Are  there  only 
two  cups?  Then  give  me  yours  and  improvise 
another." 

His  manner,  his  look,  were  enough  to  inflame 
Bernard.  He  was  sure  that  he  should  not  have 
resented  the  familiar  gallantry  of  men  in  general, 
but  Stephen  in  particular  was  especially  irritating. 
And  this  was  a  new  experience  ;  until  now  he  had 
only  seen  his  sister  interested  in  a  few  old  friends 
she  had  known  from  her  cradle. 


REVELATIONS.  99 

"I'll  borrow  a  cup  of  Miss  Phebe,"  he  said, 
hastily  rising.  "  Sarah,  keep  your  own." 

Sarah  would  not  meet  the  look  Stephen  turned 
on  her  when  they  were  alone. 

"I  came  to-night  because  I  could  not  stay 
away,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  am  making  a 
joke  of  it  because  I  am  terribly  in  love  with  you. 
How  long  do  you  think  I  can  live  like  this,  — 
darling?" 

"  How  dare  you  !  I  hate  you  I  "  she  cried,  with 
an  instinct  of  self-defence. 

"  If  you  like  •  oh,  if  you  will !  A  hot  hate 
up  to  the  measure  of  my  love !  yes,  give  me 
that !  " 

Bernard  came  in,  frowning,  his  face  to  light  up 
with  a  flash  of  suspicion  as  he  caught  his  sister's 
confusion.  She  filled  the  three  cups  with  a  trem 
bling  hand,  and  would  have  passed  Stephen  his, 
but  he  quietly  took  her  own  from  the  table  and 
talked  to  Bernard  about  the  latest  additions  to  the 
library.  It  was  too  much ;  his  coolness  struck 
the  boy  like  insolence,  and  he  was  too  much  a  boy 
for  concealment. 

"  Sarah,  I'm  going  out  to  buy  a  paper,"  he  an 
nounced,  suddenly  putting  down  his  cup,  having 
made  Stephen  no  answer. 

"O  Bernard,  no!"  said  Sarah  appealingly. 
"  Stay  !  "  But  was  she  altogether  displeased  at  the 
chance  of  listening  again  ? 


100  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

"No,  I  must  go."  There  was  a  grain  of  pleas 
ure  in  doing  the  penance  which  lay  in  refusal. 

"He  is  very  kind,"  said  Stephen,  putting  down 
his  cup  the  instant  Bernard  had  gone.  "Do  you 
object  to  being  loved  ?  " 

"  Yes,  in  this  way." 

"This  way  is  my  way,  and  you  must  learn  to 
like  it.  What  do  you  mean  by  this  way  ?  " 

"Suddenly,  without  knowing  me.  I  want 
people  to  like  my  qualities." 

"I  love  you!"  said  Stephen  irrelevantly,  lean 
ing  his  chin  on  his  hand  and  musingly  regarding 
her. 

"That  is  no  answer!"  said  the  girl,  waxing 
wroth.  "  You  are  like  a  parrot.  Say  something 
new." 

"  Anything  you  teach  me,  sweet  mistress ;  being 
a  parrot,  I  can  only  learn." 

"Besides,  I  don't  approve  of  you  ;  I  don't  like 
your  character,"  she  went  on,  satisfying  her  con 
science  by  having  it  out  at  once. 

"Nor  I,  but  I  will  improve.  I  will  be  whatever 
you  like." 

"  Then  I  don't  like  fickleness.  You  have  been 
false  to  Linora." 

"  Bother  Linora  !  —  I  mean  I  know  I  have. 
The  parrot  pleads  guilty." 

"Well,  if  you  have  done  wrong,  why  not  apolo 
gize  and  let  her  forgive  you  ?  " 


REVELATIONS.  101 

"  Because  I  don't  choose  to,  —  not  even  for  you. 
I  shall  never  again  label  myself  Miss  Linora's 
friend  :  you  must  like  me  without  the  label." 

"  Are  you  tickle  ?  "  suddenly  asked  Sarah.  Her 
eyes  were  very  soft  and  searching.  The  question 
might  have  arisen  from  an  impulse  of  coquetry ; 
its  effect  was  entirely  charming.  Stephen  looked 
at  her  more  than  an  instant  in  silence. 

"My  dear  little  girl,  I  honestly  think  not,"  he 
said,  slowly,  and  with  a  gravity  that  lent  him  a 
dangerous  charm.  "  I  have  been  fickle,  but  it  has 
been  to  the  false.  You  can't  blame  a  man  for  not 
worshipping  false  gods." 

"  No,"  said  Sarah,  softly,  "  and  I  believe  in 
you." 

Perhaps  he  might  have  taken  a  confession  of  love 
like  one  of  the  world-old  race  of  lovers.  This 
serious  little  speech  was  like  a  blow  of  knighthood. 
He  hid  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  don't !  "  said  Sarah,  instinctively  stretching 
her  hand  out,  and  as  quickly  drawing  it  back. 

"  I  won't  disgrace  you,"  said  Stephen,  throwing 
back  his  head  with  a  toss  of  his  bright  hair.  "  You 
put  out  your  hand  then.  Do  it  again."  Sarah 
laughed  and  shook  her  head.  "No,  trust  me. 
Put  it  out  and  hold  it  there."  He  knelt  and  bent 
toward  the  round  white  wrist,  not  touching  it  with 
lips  or  hand.  "  That  is  my  regard  for  youj"  he 
said,  rising.  "  If  my  love  were  less  I  might  long 


102  FOOLS    OF  NATURE. 

to  kiss  the  hand.  I  am  willing  to  worship  at  a 
distance." 

The  task  of  setting  their  acquaintance  on  a  com 
monplace  basis  was  greater  than  she  had  anticipa 
ted  ;  she  despaired  of  it.  She  took  her  sewing, 
then  laid  it  down  to  make  one  more  effort. 

"Mr.  Mann,  I  like  you  ever  so  much,  and  I 
want  to  know  you." 

"  Very  well ;   that's  a  good  beginning." 

"  But  I  can't  be  comfortable  when  you  say  such 
silly  things.  You  call  me  names,  too,  that  you've 
no  right  to." 

"  What  names  ?  "  Sarah  blushed  deeper  and 
deeper,  and  took  a  stitch  that  would  hardly  have 
done  credit  to  basting.  "  How  cowardly  you  are  ! 
How  can  I  know  what  you  mean,  till  you  tell  me  ?  " 

"Well  then, — *  darling '!"  with  a  sort  of  des 
perate  bravery. 

"Oh,  the  sweet  word  !  "  said  her  lover,  his  eyes 
feeding  dreamily  on  her  face.  "  When  will  you 
say  it  to  me  in  earnest  ?  " 

Bernard  was  soon  back  again  and  without  his 
paper.  He  had  taken  a  walk  in  hot  haste,  lashing 
himself  all  the  way  for  a  suspicious  fool.  Coming 
back  sane,  it  was  only  to  fall  into  the  same  pit  of 
jealousy  at  finding  Stephen  still  there. 

"  What  a  dandy  he  is  !  "  he  exclaimed  as  soon 
as  Stephen  had  taken  his  leave,  — and  then  hated 
himself  for  his  injustice. 


REVELATIONS.  103 

"He  isn't  at  all,"  flamed  Sarah.  "And  you 
didn't  think  so  at  first.  What  has  happened?  " 

"Nothing.  I've  grown  envious,  that's  all.  His 
nose  is  handsome  and  mine  is  not,"  sneered  Ber 
nard,  bolting  out  of  the  room,  leaving  Sarah  to 
wonder  at  the  general  disjointedness  of  the  char 
acters  she  had  to  do  with.  She  could  not  be 
angry  with  Stephen.  No  woman  can  be  with  the 
worship  of  a  man  in  whom  she  finds  a  charm,  and 
who  keeps  at  a  respectful  distance.  Then  his 
audacity  of  word  was  so  delicately  excused  by  the 
reverence  of  his  look  and  manner  that  she  could 
not  feel  herself  to  be  held  lightly. 

Her  coming  here  had  been  like  stepping  from 
the  fireside  to  the  stage.  The  foot-lights  dazzled 
her.  Perhaps  this  hurry  and  rush  of  events,  this 
outcropping  of  the  unknown  in  character,  was  the 
ordinary  and  expected  thing  in  city  life.  She 
would  not  shrink  from  her  draught  of  elixir,  but 
take  it  with  the  high  courage  she  would  like  to 
show  were  it  hemlock.  She  had  often  said  she 
longed  to  know  every  emotion  and  every  possible 
experience  of  life.  Fate  \vas  taking  her  at  her 
word.  And  yet  often  when  she  went  to  her  bed 
at  night  the  thought  of  her  mother  came  like  the 
sound  of  a  clear  stream  in  deep  woods,  after  one 
has  shouted  with  revellers  in  a  garden  of  artificial 
beauty.  She  longed  for  counsel ;  for  aged  woman 
hood  and  placid  experience  to  place  a  cool  hand  on 


104  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

her  forehead  and  still  her  pulses,  before  the  next 
glowing  dream  of  the  panorama. 

Linora  was  keeping  her  room  most  of  the  time, 
as  Miss  Phebe  said,  "all  broken  down  by  some 
new  villany  of  that  uncle.  Do  you  know  what  I 
should  like  to  do  ?  "  she  said,  with  emphasis,  one 
day,  passing  Sarah's  door  on  her  way  to  carry  Lin 
ora  a  cup  of  coffee.  "I  should  like  to  take  him 
by  the  ear  and  walk  him  up  to  that  little  angel 
and  say,  now  do  you  see  this  dear  little  thing? 
Well,  you've  most  broken  her  heart  and  drove  her 
to  the  grave  with  your  carryings  on  !  "  and  Miss 
Phebe  passed  by,  having  spoken  her  righteous 
mind.  Sarah,  having  exhausted  her  imagination 
in  trying  to  be  of  use  to  Linora  without  full  know 
ledge  of  her  troubles,  was  at  last  admitted  to  a 
further  confidence.  One  day  she  went  to  Linora's 
room,  to  find  the  atmosphere  heavy  and  fragrant 
with  smoke.  Linora  lay  upon  the  sofa,  in  a  bar 
baric-looking  costume,  with  colored  wraps  disposed 
about  her.  She  was  very  different  on  occasions, 
sometimes  rakishly  so,  from  the  Madonna-like 
Linora  whom  Sarah  had  first  seen. 

"  Dear  girl !  "  she  said  with  her  most  sorrowful 
smile,  holding  out  her  hand ;  "  take  the  little  has 
sock  and  come  here.  Don't  be  shocked  at  my 
cigarette  ;  come  and  have  one  too." 

"Cigarette?" 

"  Oh,  I    was  in  fun,  of  course,"  said  Linora, 


REVELATIONS.  105 

quickly,  withdrawing  the  little  case.  "I  am 
ordered  to  smoke  them  for  my  head ;  it  is  very 
disagreeable.  Please  don't  mention  it  to  any  one. 
It  seems  so  unwomanly,  even  under  orders." 

"  Poor  little  thing  !  1  don't  believe  anybody 
would  suspect  you  of  un  womanliness,"  said  Sarah, 
seating  herself  and  patting  the  soft  cheek.  "And 
how  do  things  go  to-day  ?  " 

"  Quite  as  one  might  expect  —  badly,"  said 
Linora,  more  pitiful  than  ever,  when  she  tried  to 
smile.  "  I  had  a  letter  from  him  to-day —  uncle." 

"  Another  ?     How  often  he  writes  !  " 

"  He  speaks  of  a  widow  who  is  in  their  party. 
He  has  fallen  in  with  a  party  abroad.  Suppose  he 
marries  her ! " 

"Well,  suppose  he  does?  You  may  like  her, 
and  it  may  make  things  twice  as  pleasant  for 
you." 

"  Ah,  my  dear,  there  is  more  behind.  I  could 
tell  you  a  reason  why  he  should  not  marry.  There 
is  insanity  in  the  family."  She  buried  her  face  in 
her  wilderness  of  wraps  and  sobbed  aloud. 

"Poor,  poor  child  !  "  said  Sarah,  thinking  of  the 
slight  proportions  of  her  own  sorrows,  in  compar 
ison  with  those  heaped  upon  this  little  creature. 

"  And  that  is  not  all,"  whispered  Linora.  "  Don't 
fear  me ;  don't  shun  me  afterwards,  but  —  I 
dread  it  for  myself !  "  Sarah  could  only  put  her 
arms  about  her  and  hold  her  in  motherly  fondness. 


106  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

"  That  is  why  my  uncle  hates  me  ;  because,  when 
ever  I  find  him  in  danger  of  marrying,  I  feel 
obliged  to  warn  the  woman  in  question.  He 
never  would  tell  her,  and  how  can  I  see  any  one 
so  sacrificed  without  knowing  what  she  was  bind 
ing  herself  to  ?  " 

"  But,"  said  Sarah,  a  sudden  thought  striking 
her,  "  you  were  going  to  marry,  yourself."  Linora 
paused,  as  if  an  unforeseen  obstacle  had  presented 
itself.  But  she  was  ready  for  the  emergency  ;  no 
one  was  ever  quicker-witted  than  she. 

"That  was  my  sin.  That  was  where  I  was 
weak,"  she  cried,  in  bitter  self-reproach.  "I 
loved  him  so  much  that  I  was  ready  to  deceive 
him.  Sarah,  don't  despise  me ! "  But  Sarah 
pitied  her  the  more,  and  spent  hours  in  reading  to 
her,  and  soothing  her  when  she  seemed  in  hope 
less  paroxysms  of  sorrow. 

She,  too,  had  some  growing  need  of  Linora,  as  an 
affectionate,  clinging  creature  who  frankly  owned 
dependence  on  her  help.  She  was  more  and  more 
alone,  shunning  Stephen,  as  his  power  of  moving 
her  grew,  and  shunned  by  Bernard.  He  had 
fallen  into  the  habit  of  staying  whole  days  away 
from  her,  coming  back  at  night  surly  and  moody. 
Their  old  companionship  was  dead,  and  she  grieved 
over  it.  Sometimes  she  was  too  hurt  by  his  evil 
humors  to  do  more  than  keep  silence,  and  leave  him 
to  his  own  ways.  Then  Bernard  was  only  more 


REVELATIONS.  107 

bitter,  and  was  sure  she  was  comparing  his  churl 
ishness  with  Stephen's  readiness  and  grace,  — 
hating  the  other  man  less  than  he  did  himself. 

In  one  of  these  moods  of  self-torture,  he  went  to 
the  box  of  papers  where  lay  the  statement  of  his 
birth,  written  by  his  second  mother.  He  began 
to  formulate  his  reasons  for  leaving  it  unread ; 
chief  among  them  must  have  been  the  feeling  that 
it  could  only  amount  to  a  weakening  of  the  tie 
made  only  by  affection,  if  the  n^ame  and  locality  of 
his  kindred  should  assume  a  practical  value  in  his 
mind.  Now,  when  the  superfine  texture  of  Ste 
phen's  manner  and  beauty  mocked  him  continually, 
he  was  driven  back  and  out  of  himself  to  find 
further  cause  for  misery.  Stephen  faced  the  world 
coolly,  and  looked  as  if  he  might  do  it  arrogantly, 
with  an  eye  single  to  his  future,  knowing  the  past 
contained  no  stain.  Bernard  had  been  trans 
planted  ;  no  doubt  taken  from  a  soil  that  grew 
only  weeds  ;  and  if  that  were  so,  it  was  no  wonder 
that  the  rankness  and  grossness  of  the  weed  lay  in 
his  nature.  Sarah  tapped  at  his  door  while  he  was 
unlocking  the  box.  The  sound  was  like  the  dis 
suading  whisper  of  a  guardian  angel.  He  stopped 
and  listened,  his  finger  still  on  the  packet. 

"Not  now,  Sarah;  go  away!"  he  called, 
harshly,  hoping  she  would  insist,  but  her  footsteps 
retreated  slowly  down  the  stairs.  Then  he  opened 
the  paper,  committed  himself  to  the  severe  mercies 


108  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

of  truth,  and  read.  There  was  no  attempt  at 
melodramatic  surprise  in  the  document,  and  there 
was  need  for  none.  He  knew  the  main  fact  before, 
being  ignorant  only  of  name  and  place. 

''  My  dear  son,"  his  mother  wrote.  "I  thank 
you  for  being  so  willing  to  belong  to  me  that  you 
are  not  curious  as  to  your  natural  ties.  The  year 
my  little  son  died,  I  found  you  in  Freeport,  a 
country  town  where  I  boarded  a  few  weeks.  Your 
mother  did  some  work  for  me,  and  brought  you 
with  her  when  she  took  home  the  clothes.  You 
were  very  precocious ;  Sarah,  who  was  a  month 
younger,  took  a  great  fancy  to  you,  and  I  fell  in 
love  with  you.  Your  mother  was  very  poor  just 
then,  and  was  willing  I  should  take  you  to  educate. 
I  think  she  was  the  more  willing  because  she  was 
about  to  marry  again,  a  very  respectable  mechanic, 
who  objected  to  a  child  not  his  own.  I  adopted 
you,  and  she  promised  not  to  find  you  out,  when 
you  had  once  taken  my  name.  She  still  lives  in 
Freeport,  I  have  recently  taken  the  trouble  to 
ascertain.  Her  name  was  formerly  Bridget  Mac- 
Claren,  and  she  married  a  man  by  the  name  of 
Mason.  They  are  in  good  circumstances,  and  have 
a  large  family  of  children.  I  do  not  think  she 
needs  you,  but  it  is  unnecessary  to  remind  you  to 
consider  —  though  you  may  not  acknowledge  — 
the  ties  of  blood,  if  you  should  ever  see  an  occa 
sion  of  duty  for  doing  so." 


REVELATIONS.  109 

Bernard  dropped  the  paper,  and,  in  taking  it  up, 
looked  curiously  at  his  hand.  The  white  length 
of  Stephen's  fingers  ranged  itself  beside  his  square 
ones. 

"  Anybody  could  tell,  to  look  at  that,"  he  said 
aloud.  "A  workman's  hand,  through  generations 
of  ditchers  and  road-menders."  He  took  the  lamp, 
and,  placing  it  on  the  bureau,  studied  his  face  in 
tently  in  the  glass.  It  had  before  only  struck 
him  as  not  being  handsome ;  now  it  classified  him. 

"Features  thick, "he  went  on  relentlessly,  every 
word  stabbing ;  "  skin  coarse,  eyes  no-colored 
and  watery.  And  I  dared  to  dream  of  marrying 
her.  Faugh ! "  Moved  only  by  pure  physical 
disgust,  he  threw  himself  into  a  chair,  to  think  it 
all  out. 

"  Bridget  MacClaren.  She  must  be  Irish  ;  that 
accounts  for  my  temperament.  So  she  brought 
home  the  clothes ;  that  means  she  was  a  washer 
woman.  And  I'm  not  even  gentleman  enough  to 
be  willing  to  be  a  washerwoman's  son  1  " 

It  occurred  to  him  that  Stephen  —  for  Stephen 
would  always  now  stand  opposite  himself  for  a 
contrasting  type  —  would  have  inherited  such 
chivalry  of  feeling  that  he  could  believe  himself 
sprung  from  a  muck-heap  without  losing  self- 
respect. 

"He  is  too  fine  to  despise  anybody,"  went  on 
the  sharp  tongue  of  his  consciousness.  "  He  could 


110  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

hold  up  his  head  anywhere ;  he  could  win  his 
spurs  if  they  were  withheld.  I  am  too  coarse  not 
to  despise  coarseness." 

A  beautiful  and  ideal  state  of  mind  arose  tempt 
ingly  before  him,  —  that  which  counsels  one  to 
condemn  no  man  on  account  of  his  birth,  and  love 
no  woman  better  for  the  fineness  she  borrows 
from  station.  All  the  maxims  relating  to  man's 
intrinsic  worth,  and  the  transitory  nature  of  advan 
tages  that  lie  outside  himself,  passed  through  his 
mind  with  a  monotonous  iteration,  but  he  could 
not  absorb  them.  He  told  himself  that  he  could 
appreciate  them  in  an  intellectual  sort  of  manner, 
could  see  their  beauty  from  an  artistic  point  of 
view,  finding  nothing  akin  to  them  in  the  sponta 
neous  utterances  of  his  own  heart.  That  blank 
feeling  of  having  no  part  or  lot  in  what  his  spirit 
ual  eye  saw  to  be  finest,  moved  him  to  despair. 
No  other  man,  except  one  with  his  inherited  igno- 
bility,  would  have  taken  Stephen's  intrusion  on 
his  life  in  just  this  way.  Another  lover  —  and 
he  shuddered  to  think  how  Sarah  would  shrink 
from  the  word  applied  to  himself —  would  have 
risen  to  meet  his  rival  in  noble  and  generous 
combat,  thinking  first  of  the  lady's  happiness,  and, 
if  he  must  leave  the  field,  withdrawing  in  all 
courtesy.  But  he  had  merely  fostered  in  his 
heart  a  noisome  growth  of  envy  and  hatred.  With 
a  sudden  thought  of  Sarah,  he  seized  the  paper  and 


REVELATIONS.  Ill 

ran  down  to  her  room,  afraid  of  waiting  a  second 
lest  his  resolve  should  fail  him.  She  looked  up  in 
surprise  at  his  wildness. 

"  Read  it !  "  he  cried,  thrusting  it  into  her  hands. 
"  Don't  wait  an  instant  or  I  shall  tear  it  up.  The 
devil  is  tempting  me  !  " 

He  could  not  watch  her.  He  felt  like  imploring 
her  not  to  let  her  voice  change  when  she  should 
speak.  With  his  eyes  covered,  his  heart  beating 
a  cruel  death-march  to  his  hopes,  it  seemed  ages 
before  she  finished,  though  she  had  run  her  eye 
over  it  rapidly. 

"Well,  dear  boy?"  with  surprise  in  her  voice, 
which  held  also  a  sweet  intonation.  He  could  not 
believe  his  ears :  his  heart  broke  its  monotonous 
time  for  a  suffocating  leap  into  a  quicker  measure. 
"Bernard,"  said  Sarah,  her  tone  all  gravity,  — 
one  that  would  compel  an  answer,  "are  you 
so  fond  of  me  you  are  sorry  you  are  not  my 
brother?" 

An  impetuous  answer  rose  to  his  lips,  to  be 
choked  there. 

"  If  you  read  such  a  thing  about  yourself,"  said 
he,  "if  you  knew  your  mother  — "  and  then  he 
stopped. 

"  I  hope  I  should  respect  her  name  because  she 
was  my  mother,"  said  the  girl,  hotly.  Whatever 
could  be  construed  as  a  slur  on  the  sacred  name 
touched  a  wound. 


112  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

Bernard's  head  sank  lower.  He  deserved  it ; 
but  it  was  hard  that  she  too  must  recognize  the 
pettiness  of  his  soul.  Still  that  was  not,  after  all, 
the  main  point.  Nothing  stood  before  his  rela 
tion  to  her,  and  the  manner  in  which  she  would 
regard  him. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  wouldn't  despise  a  man 
who  came  from  such  a  family?"  he  asked,  with  a 
shamefaced  resolution.  "Now  you  know  all 
about  me,  don't  you  half  wish  your  mother  had 
never  adopted  me?  Shan't  you  treat  me  differ 
ently  to-morrow  from  what  you  did  yesterday  ?  " 

He  had  an  instant  to  wait  for  his  answer.  It 
was  a  ringing  laugh  that  startled  him  into  looking 
up. 

"  You  silly  child  !  "  said  Sarah,  a  delicious  mirth 
about  her  mouth,  and  a  motherly  compassion  in 
her  eyes.  "Do  you  think  this  is  news  to  me?  I 
could  have  told  you  the  facts  ten  years  ago." 

Bernard  looked  at  her  in  blank  amazement 
before  he  rushed  up  to  his  own  room,  where  he 
locked  himself  in.  If  that  was  a  precautionary 
measure  against  the  betrayal  of  unmanly  weakness, 
I  am  afraid  his  Irish  temperament  must  be  held 
responsible  for  the  latter. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

BURNING   HIS   BOATS. 

SARAH  came  in  from  a  walk,  slow  and  full  of 
reflection,  to  be  met  in   the    hall   by  Miss 
Phebe  and  a  smell  of  camphor. 

"  I've  got  to  go  to  Linora,"  said  Miss  Phebe,  in 
passing.  "  Mr.  Mann's  been  thrown  from  his  horse 
and  hurt.  Go  in  and  see  that  he  don't  faint  again, 
till  I  come  back." 

The  sickness  of  sudden  calamity  came  upon 
Sarah,  blinding  and  choking"  her.  Above  and 
through  this  purely  physical  sensation,  sounded 
like  a  clear  full  note  of  music  the  consciousness 
that  Stephen  belonged  only  to  her.  After  that 
recognition,  she  walked  steadily  to  his  half-opened 
door,  expecting  to  find  him  shattered,  perhaps 
unconscious.  He  was  sitting  by  the  fire,  his  pale 
ness  the  only  apparent  flag  of  distress. 

"You?"  trying  to  rise,  and  then  giving  it  up 
with  an  annoyed  sense  of  its  awkwardness. 
"  What  is  it?  What  has  happened?  "  he  went  on, 
in  some  sudden,  vague  fear,  when  she  did  not 
answer. 

Sarah  stood  looking  at  him,  her  eyes  radiant, 
her  face  quivering.  Not  an  impulse  rose  in  her 

113 


114  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

—  and  this  was  the  most  purely  impulsive  moment 
of  her  life  —  but  one  of  joy,  and  honest  willing 
ness  that  he  and  the  universe  should  know  its 
cause.  Indeed,  they  must,  taking  the  burden 
from  her  own  heart  by  sharing  it. 

"I  thought  you  must  be  dead  !  "  she  trembled, 
her  voice  full  of  musical  suggestions.  "  I  don't 
care  for  anything  now.  I  don't  care  how  much 
you  are  hurt !  Oh,  you  are  alive  !  " 

Stephen  sat  quite  still,  but  his  eyes  were  like 
two  living  creatures. 

"Very  much  alive,"  he  said  dryly.  "Do  you 
want  to  feel  my  pulse  ?  For  God's  sake ! "  he 
burst  forth,  his  self-control  swept  away  by  the 
tide.  "Is  it  so?" 

She  faced  him  with  an  unfaltering  look.  The 
time  for  blushes  had  not  come.  She  would  take 
love  like  a  goddess,  not  like  a  coquette. 

"  That  I  am  yours  ?  "  she  said  clearly.     "  Yes  ! 
Then  came  the  instinct  of  flight,  and  she  turned 
to  the  door. 

"  Go,  dear,"  said  Stephen  gently.  He  had 
turned  his  face  from  her,  and  his  voice  shook. 
"Go,  I  shall  come  to  you." 

When  Sarah  reached  her  own  room,  instead 
of  going  through  any  dramatic  yielding  to  emotion, 
she  quietly  drew  off  her  gloves  and  hung  up  her 
wraps  in  unwonted  order.  Then  she  sat  down  by 
the  grate,  and  began  to  shiver.  The  word  had 


BURNING   HIS    BOATS.  115 

been  spoken,  and  withdrawal  was  beyond  her 
power.  Miss  Phebe  came  to  ask  if  she  would  sit 
an  hour  with  Linora.  The  poor  child  was  so  ex 
hausted  ;  the  fright  of  Mr.  Mann's  accident  had 
sent  her  into  a  fainting  fit  and  then  into  hysterics. 
Sarah  was  ashamed  of  herself  for  a  momentary 
hardness  and  disgust.  These  seemed  such  trifling 
emotions,  compared  with  the  real  convulsions  of 
life.  She  would  not  sit  with  Linora ;  she  could 
not  bear  to  see  her  when  she  longed  to  look  only 
in  the  face  of  her  own  awe  and  joy. 

"I  can't,  Miss  Phebe,"  she  said,  desperately. 
"I'm  — busy." 

"  Then  if  you  can't,  you  can't,"  rejoined  Miss 
Phebe.  "I've  got  to  see  about  Mr.  Mann.  He's 
only  got  a  million  bruises,  but  he's  none  too  com 
fortable." 

That  evening  Sarah  refused  to  go  out  with  Ber 
nard,  and  he  jealously  sought  for  a  reason.  Was 
it  somehow  for  Stephen's  sake  ?  —  though  Stephen, 
in  his  disabled  condition,  would  probably  not  make 
calls.  The  sharing  of  his  own  gnawing  discovery 
with  Sarah  had  not  proved  to  be  of  much  perma 
nent  comfort.  With  the  next  day,  and  u  look  in 
the  glass,  he  was  again  his  most  jealous  and  sus 
picious  self.  But,  though  his  own  evening  was 
spoiled  through  anticipation,  he  would  not  intrude 
on  hers.  She  would  doubtless  hate  him  enough, 
even  if  he  refrained  from  becoming  a  spy  upon 


116  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

her.  So  he  betook  himself  to  his  room,  and  locked 
himself  in  with  his  changing  moods. 

And  Sarah  was  waiting ;  her  heart  giving  the 
lie  to  her  judgment,  and  declaring  Stephen's  com 
ing.  Presently  his  knock  announced  it.  He  was 
there,  pale  as  much  with  mental  disturbance  as 
physical  discomfort.  Sarah  held  the  door  open, 
and  when  he  had  come,  retreated  to  the  fire-place. 

"Shall  I  sit  down?"  asked  Stephen.  "I  am 
heartily  ashamed  of  behaving  like  a  rheumatic  old 
lady." 

"  Oh,  please,  and  in  this  great  chair.  Was  it 
a  dreadful  hurt?"  coming  a  little  nearer  in  voice. 

"No  hurt  at  all,  to  speak  of,  and  I  wonder  I'm 
so  voluble  about  it.  Ridiculous  to  be  faint,  wasn't 
it  ?  Perhaps  it  isn't  quite  fair  to  come  to  you  to 
night." 

"Why?" 

"You  may  pity  me.  I  don't  want  your  kind 
ness  to  spring  from  that ;  I'd  rather  not  be  indebt 
ed  to  my  bruises." 

Sarah  stood  looking  down  at  the  coals,  and  trac 
ing  the  diamond-shaped  pattern  of  the  rug  with  her 
foot. 

"Dear,  let  me  speak  seriously  to  you,"  said 
Stephen,  his  voice  shaking  out  vibrations  from  her 
own  heart.  "  I  have  been  half  laughing  about  it 
all  these  weeks  ;  it  was  because  I  didn't  dare  to  do 
anything  else,  for  fear  of  frightening  you.  Now 


BURNING   HIS    BOATS.  117 

I  can  tell  you  everything  I  meant."  He  moved  a 
cricket  near  her.  "  Will  you  take  it  ?  I  want  to 
see  how  you  will  look  beside  my  hearth." 

At  the  last  sentence,  she  arrested  her  movement 
to  draw  it  forward,  with  a  sweet  contradictoriness. 

"Oh,"  said  Stephen  beseechingly,  "let me  have 
the  comfort !  I've  got  some  hard  things  to  say  to 
you.  The  cricket  commits  you  to  nothing." 
Thereupon  she  smiled  a  little  proudly,  as  if  assert 
ing  her  continued  freedom,  and  obeyed  him,  sitting 
with  her  hands  clasped  over  her  knees  and  looking 
persistently  at  the  fire. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  will  answer  me  as  it  is  natural 
for  you  to  do,"  he  said  at  last,  evidently  making 
an  effort;  "truly,  not  coquetting  nor  trifling?" 

"Yes." 

"Then,  shall  you  love  me?  I  don't  ask  if  you 
do  ;  I  could  not  quite  believe  that.  But  shall  you 
sometime  ?  " 

"  Not  more  than  now  I  " 

He  bent  forward  quickly,  but  pulled  himself 
up. 

"Not  yet,  dearest,  don't  say  it  yet !  "  he  cried. 
"  How  could  I  let  you  take  it  back  I  " 

"Why  should  I?" 

"Because  you  may  hate  me  instead.  Once  I 
thought  I  loved  another  woman."  He  had  turned 
away  his  face,  and  his  lips  were  ashen. 

"Do   you   care   for  her   now?"   asked   Sarah, 


118  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

steadily.     His  hand  framed  a  quick  gesture  of  dis 
gust. 

"No,  no  !  How  could  you  think  so  poorly  of 
me?  What  should  I  deserve  for  offering  you 
this?" 

"  Then  —  "  began  Sarah. 

"  Not  yet.  Hear  it  all  and  condemn  in  one 
breath.  I  married  her.  We  were  married  three 
years." 

"  Were  you  happy  ?  " 

"I  was  a  fool,  but  even  a  fool  can  suffer 
torment." 

"Darling  !  "  said  Sarah,  softly,  a  swell  of  love 
and  pity  urging  on  her  voice.  "  You  said  it  was 
a  sweet  word." 

Stephen  turned  to  look  at  her.  Her  face  daz 
zled  him. 

"  Do  you  want  to  hear  the  miserable  story, 
dear?" 

"No,  I  shall  never  want  to  hear  it." 

"  But  sometime  you  must.  You  must  know  all 
about  me." 

"  Then  let  it  be  afterwards .  Bernard  will  come , " 
she  added  ;  "don't  tell  him,  please." 

"WTiynot?" 

"  I  don't  know,  except  that  he  is  so  strange  and 
moody  of  late,  and  I  can't  bear  to  have  this  one 
night  spoiled." 

"  But  he  is  your  next  of  kin." 


BURNING    HIS   BOATS.  119 

"  No  kin  at  all,"  said  Sarah,  laughing.  "Hadn't 
you  guessed  that  he  was  an  adopted  brother?  " 

"Powers  that  be!"  whistled  Stephen.  "That 
accounts." 

"  For  what,  if  you  please  ?  " 

"  For  his  not  seeming  fraternal." 

"  Ah,  but  he  is  !  He's  very  fond  of  me  ;  only 
he's  troubled  of  late." 

Stephen  said  no  more,  but  thanked  his  particu 
lar  divinities  that  he  came  in  time. 

The  following  days  were  sweeter  for  being  full 
of  a  hidden  joy.  Stephen  carried  the  feeling  that 
he  had  an  appointment  at  a  secret  place  with  one 
of  whom  the  world  did  not  know  ;  but  the  source 
of  joy  could  not  lie  long  concealed.  He  was  too 
desirous  of  her  presence,  and  hung  too  boldly  on 
her  words  and  face, ever  to  feign  indifference  ;  more 
over,  when  there  was  no  good  reason  for  subter 
fuge. 

Sarah  lived  in  a  dream,  seeing  little  of  Bernard 
and  avoiding  Linora.  She  was  blinded  by  the 
haze  of  her  own  happiness,  and  did  not  see  the  dis 
turbance  in  her  brother's  manner.  The  world  was 
shrouded  in  mist,  through  which  she  beheld  the 
figures  of  men  dimly,  — but  before  and  above  her 
vision  hung  the  dazzling  globe  of  love,  striking 
white  light  from  the  surrounding  veil.  She  and 
Stephen  took  long  walks,  their  best  chance  of  being 
alone  together.  He  talked  rapturously,  but  only 


120  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

of  her,  and  she  was  often  silent.  She  had  taken 
the  wonder  of  love  royally,  after  her  first  wide 
glance  of  amazement  at  its  shining  form.  Stand 
ing  where  he  placed  her,  high  above  him,  she  dis 
pensed  her  favors  with  a  gracious  hand,  —  bewil- 
deringly  shy,  motherly,  and  stately,  all  in  one,  until 
his  tongue  was  well  used  to  swearing  there  was 
no  woman  like  her. 

That  quick  egotism  which  usually  springs  to 
life  in  a  man,  with  love,  prompting  him  to  dwell  on 
his  past  life,  even  if  he  scarcely  chooses  to  lay  its 
incidents  bare,  was  quite  absent  from  Stephen's 
mood.  He  was  rather  like  a  man  born  to  life  on 
a  new  planet,  looking  forward  with  exultant  hope, 
and  spurning  memories  of  the  old  dark  days.  Yet 
he  reminded  himself  sometimes,  with  a  shiver, 
when  he  was  not  with  her,  that  a  miserable  story 
was  still  to  be  told.  To  put  it  off  longer  would 
be  cowardice  rather  than  the  forgctfulness  that 
comes  with  happiness.  It  would  be  easier  to  do 
it  on  the  road,  her  hand  in  his  arm ;  so,  one  night 
at  the  early  dusk,  he  called  her  to  equip  herself  for 
walking. 

Sarah  was  in  high  spirits,  "  like  a  cat  when  the 
wind  is  rising,"  she  said.  It  oppressed  Stephen. 
He  had  made  up  his  mind  at  last,  and  it  roused 
in  him  that  sickening  feeling  which  comes  when 
some  are  talking  glibly  and  others  must  listen,  yet 
hear  at  the  same  time  the  insistent  inner  voice  of 


BURNING   HIS   BOATS.  121 

a  concealed  anticipation.      They  were  barely  out 
side  the  house  when  he  began. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  about  myself  to-night." 

"How  like  spring  it  is  !  "  said  Sarah,  not  heed 
ing  him.  "  Feel  the  softness  in  the  air,  and  see 
the  moon.  I  can  almost  hear  the  little  brooks 
that  come  from  the  melting  of  the  snow.  Stephen, 
I  wish  you  had  had  my  country  life,  years  and 
years,  with  me." 

"I  wish  to  God  I  had!"  broke  out  the  man, 
startling  her.  "Perhaps  I  might  have  been  some 
thing  different  if  I  could  have  been  delivered  over 
to  an  angel  instead  of — other  people." 

"  You  need  not  be  different  for  me,  dear,"  said 
the  girl,  serious  in  an  instant.  "You  are  my  true 
and  loyal  knight." 

"Now,  yes.  But  I  must  tell  you  it  all.  Sarah, 
I  was  once  desperately  in  love  with  a  beautiful 
woman.  I  married  her  at  twenty-one,  and  was 
divorced  three  years  after." 

He  threw  the  words  out  as  the  skeleton  of  his 
spectre.  It  would  be  easier  to  add  details,  hav 
ing  the  main,  hard  facts  before  him.  Sarah  had 
stopped  short,  and  was  looking  at  him  in  the 
moonlight,  her  eyes  growing  wide,  and  her  throat 
constricting  itself  too  closely  for  speech. 

"  What  was  it  ?    Divorced  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  told  you  the  other  night." 

"  But  not  that !  " 


122  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

"  I  must  have.     What  did  I  say  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  —  I  thought  she  died.  But  she 
did  die,  —  she  died  afterwards?" 

The  appeal  told  its  story.  Stephen  understood 
that  the  spectre  had  risen  between  them.  He  had 
believed  that  the  fair  white  hands  could  thrust  it 
aside. 

"  She  is  alive,"  he  said,  doggedly. 

Sarah's  steps  faltered  a  little,  but  she  did  not 
lift  her  face. 

"  Only  speak  to  me  ! "  cried  Stephen,  at  last. 
"I'd  rather  have  died  myself  than  hurt  you, — 
and  that  means  I'd  rather  have  gone  to  perdition  ; 
that  was  where  I  was  going  when  you  stood  in  the 
way." 

"  Tell  me  about  it,  —  though  it  can  do  no  good 
now,"  she  said,  miserably.  Her  voice,  no  matter 
what  its  tone,  was  like  a  sudden  light  through 
fog.  Stephen  hated  his  work  too  much  to  think 
of  anything  else  till  it  should  be  over. 

"I  was  twenty  when  I  saw  her,"  he  began,  hur 
riedly,  "  more  of  a  boy  than  most  boys,  romantic, 
dreaming  about  music,  and  in  my  sophomore  year 
at  college.  She  was  the  sister  of  a  fellow  who  was 
ill  a  long  time,  and  she  came  to  nurse  him.  I 
used  to  visit  him.  After  she  came,  I  used  to  take 
night  after  night  to  watch  with  him.  You  will 
despise  me  more  than  I  deserve,  when  I  tell  you 
why  I  think  I  fell  in  love  with  her.  I  know  how 


BURNING    HIS    BOATS.  123 

you  feel  about  such  things,  like  an  angel  that  was 
never  human.  She  was  beautiful  flesh,  enough 
to  prove  an  artist's  life-long  discouragement,  with 
her  tints  and  outlines.  I  had  the  sort  of  nature 
that  worships  beauty  ;  I  was  at  the  age  for  falling 
in  love ;  so  I  took  the  first  material  at  hand.  I 
fell  in  love  with  her." 

" How  did  she  look?  "  asked  Sarah,  in  a  whispei% 

"  Like  a  sunset,  I  always  told  her.  You  won't 
understand  when  I  tell  you  that  an  indescribable 
purple  always  seemed  to  me  to  be  the  tint  hanging 
about  her.  Her  eyes  were  a  strange  blue,  and 
her  hair  black,  but  her  skin  always  seemed  to  lie 
under  a  veil,  like  the  bloom  on  a  plum.  As  I 
told  you,  she  looked  to  me  like  the  rosy  sunset  of 
a  moist  day." 

Sarah  felt  herself  at  the  brink  of  shivering,  and 
clenched  her  hand  on  her  nerves.  There  was  more 
pure  dramatic  interest  than  jealousy  in  her  ex 
citement. 

"  She  was  five  years  older  than  I,  and  she  was  a 
coquette  to  the  very  marrow.  She  liked  my  wor 
ship,  you  may  be  sure  of  that.  She'd  had  a  good 
deal  before,  but  young  adoration  has  a  flavor  about 
it,  I  have  come  to  think  since.  She  used  to  come 
in  to  relieve  me  or  bring  me  a  glass  of  wine,  when 
I  watched  with  Fred,  and  look  at  me  across  his 
bed.  When  he  was  delirious,  she  could  make 
eyes  at  me.  I  saw  then  that  she  had  no  feeling 


124  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

for  anybody  but  —  me,  I  suppose  I  thought !  I 
knew  she  hoodwinked  me  and  lied  to  me.  I 
heard  her  lies  with  my  ears,  but  they  made  no  dif- 
feyence  with  niy  heart.  I  must  have  been  a  fine 
sort  of  fellow  !  " 

"  But  if  you  saw  she  wasn't  your  ideal,"  began 
Sarah,  in  her  perplexity,  "  why  did  you  go  on  lov 
ing  her  ?  " 

"  Because,  I  suppose,  I  had  no  ideal.  Yes,  I 
had.  Yes,  it  is  fair  to  tell  you  all  the  good  there 
is  to  tell  of  me.  I  had.  I  had  all  my  short  life  a 
woman  in  my  mind  made  up  of  all  perfections, 
whom  I  should  sometime  love.  But  when  my 
senses  said  '  she  has  come,'  I  tore  off  the  crown 
and  put  it  on  her  head ;  and  I  could  not  see 
straight  after  that. 

"  She  treated  me  like  a  boy  ;  scolded  and  flirted 
with  me,  but  she  said  she  loved  me,  and  I  was  in 
fatuated.  Fred  got  well  and  she  was  going  home. 
She  lived  West,  fifty  miles  from  what  was  my  own 
home  then.  I  remember  wondering,  when  I 
found  out  her  birthplace,  how  such  a  creature 
could  have  grown  up  so  near  me  without  my  hear 
ing  of  her.  Somehow  I  was  afraid  of  losing  her, 
she  seemed  so  beautiful  and  my  deserts  so  small. 
I'  suppose  I  thought  little  Skeriton,  where  she 
lived,  a  sort  of  Belmont,  and  that  suitors  flocked 
there  night  and  day.  I  proposed  that  she  should 
marry  me,  and  she  consented.  I  thought  it  was 


BURNING   HIS   BOATS.  125 

because  she  was  an  angel,  and  the  gods  were  in 
love  with  me  :  afterwards  I  saw  she  found  my  po 
sition  good  and  my  money  an  object. 

"  So  we  were  married  secretly,  because  I  was  still 
in  college,  and  she  went  back  to  Skeriton.  I  saw 
her  twice  a  year,  on  vacations.  She  forbade  my 
coming  often,  though  I  could  always  have  done  so 
on  my  way  home ;  and  I  stood  back  and  rever 
enced  her  commands.  Now  guess,  for  once,  why 
she  wouldn't  allow  me  to  come  and  see  her,"  said 
Stephen,  with  an  unpleasant  sort  of  amusement  in 
his  tone. 

"I  can't." 

"You  never  would.  Your  eternal  salvation 
would  be  lost  if  it  depended  on  that.  She  was  en 
gaged,  and  was  afraid  the  other  fellow  would  see 
me  and  ask  unpleasant  questions." 

"  I  don't  understand.  How  could  she  be  en 
gaged?" 

"  Easily.  Why  not  ?  Nobody  knew  I  was  her 
husband  but  myself  and  an  old  Methodist  minister, 
and  we  weren't  on  the  spot." 

M  But  she  couldn't  marry  him." 

"  Naturally  not ;  but  that  didn't  detract  from  the 
pleasure  of  the  experience.  I  don't  .suppose  she 
had  debated  on  consequences.  She'd  been  engaged 
to  more  than  one  man,  I  found  out  afterwards." 

"That  is  very  strange,"  said  Sarah,  more  to  her 
self  than  to  him. 


126  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

"  One  might  call  it  so  indeed.  But  let  me  open 
your  ears  —  which,  to  be  sure,  ought  to  be  sacred 
temples  —  to  an  unclean  truth  ;  it  may  help  you  to 
understand  the  kind  of  ideal,  as  you  say,  I  had 
chosen.  There  is  a  variety  of  woman,  as  there  are 
men,  with  whom  a  sort  of  commerce  of  looks  and 
small  change  of  caresses  is  a  necessity  of  life. 
Well,  when  I  graduated,  it  was  not  with  honors, 
as  it  might  have  been.  My  mind  had  been  too 
much  engrossed  by  writing  a  poetic  epistle  daily. 
I  told  my  father  what  I  had  done,  and  asked  per 
mission  to  take  my  wife  home.  I  am  sorry  to  say 
my  father  swore  and  my  mother  cried.  I  had  no 
patience  with  either  of  them.  I  thought  they 
ought  to  go  down  on  their  knees  and  be  thankful 
for  what  they  were  about  to  receive.  I  was  very 
obstinate,  and  they  were  too  fond  of  me  to  go 
through  any  such  dramatic  business  as  cursing  me  ; 
so  the  marriage  was  acknowledged  and  Dora  taken 
home.  Her  relatives  were  quite  as  electrified  as 
mine,  though  not  displeased.  My  father,  being 
Judge  Mann,  was  too  well  known.  The  young 
man  to  whom  she  was  engaged  at  the  time  was 
also  surprised,  I  believe  ! 

"  I  was  in  a  sort  of  maudlin  Elysium.  I  was  to 
gtudy  law  with  my  father,  and  tried  faithfully,  but 
the  reading  did  not  make  its  deepest  impression  on 
nie.  I  was  beginning  to  be  uneasy.  I  should 
have  been  glad  enough  to  spend  my  time  at  her 


BURNING   HIS   BOATS.  127 

feet  if  that  would  have  made  her  contented,  but 
it  did  not.  She  wanted  to  be  taken  into  society, 
wanted  me  to  spend  a  winter  in  Washington  or 
New  York  and  read  law  there.  I  refused  flatly. 
I  had  an  instinctive  jealousy,  such  as  would  sicken 
a  loyal  wife.  I  did  not  dare,  somehow,  to  trust 
her  with  people  more  worthy  her  liking  than  I.  I 
suppose  I  told  myself  that  it  was  because  she  was 
such  a  gem  that  everybody  must  covet  her.  Per 
haps  if  I  had  let  her  have  her  own  way,  the  end 
might  not  have  come  so  soon.  She  was  dull 
enough  in  our  dull  town,  and  finally  her  old  lover 
nioved  there.  By  the  way,  I  knew  that  story  of 
the  previous  engagement ;  Fred  divulged  it  one 
day  when  he  was  angry  with  her ;  but  she  told  me 
it  was  a  lie,  and  I  believed  her.  The  lover  had 
struck  silver  in  a  mine  near  town,  and  it  had  filled 
his  pockets  fuller  in  a  week  than  mine  would  be 
in  ten  years,  if  I  doubled  my  father's  business. 

"  One  fine  morning  she  walked  away  with  him, 
leaving  a  note  telling  me  where  to  express  her 
clothes." 

A  strange  revulsion  was  coming  about  in  Sarah's 
mind.  She  was  too  oppressed  with  pity  for  the 
boy  to  remember  her  own  relation  to  the  man.  It 
seemed  impossible  to  live  unless  she  could  restore 
his  betrayed  trust,  lead  him  back  to  his  boyish 
love  to  find  her  pure,  and  say,  "  It  was  a  bad 
dream  ;  wake  and  behold  everything  you  imagined." 


128  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

"My  father  and  mother  were  very  good  to  me," 
said  Stephen,  gravely.  "  They  had  reason  for  say 
ing,  '  I  told  you  so,'  and  for  being  glad  I  had 
come  to  the  end.  Everybody  had  seen  what  she  • 
was,  but  everybody  had  been  forbearing  for  my 
sake.  Through  my  father's  influence  I  got  a 
divorce  as  soon  as  possible,  without  much  publi 
city.  Then  I  came  East.''' 

"  And  how  long  did  you  care  for  her  ? "  asked 
Sarah,  in  a  whisper.  Stephen  turned  upon  her  in 
amazement. 

"  Care  for  her  ?  Never  one  instant  after  I  really 
knew  her.  Do  you  think  a  man  could  stay  on  his 
knees  to  carrion  after  he  was  sickened  by  it,  even 
if  his  senses  had  been  once  so  vilely  ordered  as  to 
love  it?  That  was  partly  why  I  had  the  divorce, 
because  I  could  not  bear  having  the  least  connec 
tion  left  between  us.  Then,  too,  I  thought  it 
would  be  better  for  her  to  feel  she  had  some  sort 
of  sanction." 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  her  ?  " 

"Not  once.  I  see  her  name  in  the  papers  some 
times.  She  has  left  that  man,  and  joined  a  troupe 
of  travelling  comedians.  Once  I  was  in  the  town 
where  they  played  a  night.  You  can  imagine  I 
didn't  go  to  see  them." 

"  Is  there  anything  more  ?  "  asked  Sarah,  with 
sick  apprehension  that  there  might  be  new  kor- 
rors. 


BURNING    HIS    BOATS.  129 

"  No,  nothing  so  pleasantly  dramatic  ;  only  that  I 
didn't  study  law  after  all.  My  heart  wasn't  in  it,  or 
in  anything.  I  gave  up  music,  too  ;  I  felt  that  I 
had  lost  my  chance  in  life.  Father  had  this  man 
ufacturing  interest  here  in  Boston,  and  when  he 
died  —  mother  had  died  the  year  before  —  I  took 
charge  of  the  factory." 

They  had  come  round  the  great  square  that  had 
become  a  familiar  walk,  and  were  again  before 
Miss  Phebe's  door.  Stephen  followed,  when  Sarah 
went  into  her  room.  She  turned  on  the  gas,  and 
as  the  light  fell  on  her  slight  figure  and  pale,  work 
ing  face,  his  eyes  came  back  to  her  with  a  kind  of 
amazement.  Then  he  fell  on  his  knees  before  her. 

"I  had  .almost  forgotten  my  heaven,"  he  cried, 
brokenly,  "I  had  gone  so  far  back  into  hell. 
Yes,  hear  the  rest  of  the  story  ;  oh,  let  me  tell  it 
here  !  When  I  was  tired  of  life  and  had  only  base 
ness  and  my  own  base  responses  to  remember,  I 
saw  you.  Every  dream  I  ever  had,  every  worship 
ping  thought  of  a  woman's  nature,  confronted  me. 
I  was  dazzled  by  your  radiance.  Not  my  senses, 
dear  ;  my  heart  and  soul  knelt  there,  and  —  God, 
I  will  deserve  her  !  " 

Sarah  bent  over  him  with  slow,  bitter  weeping 
that  pitifully  contracted  her  face.  In  the  cry  of 
his  vow  to  heaven,  Stephen  had  lifted  his  face,  as 
full  of  hope  as  hers  of  misery. 

"  O  dearest,  no  !  "  he  cried,  starting  to  his  feet  to 


130  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

dry  her  tears.  "You  must  not  cry  for  me.  It 
was  worth  it,  if  I  must  have  gone  through  even 
that,  to  be  able  to  love  you  when  I  found  you ; 
or  —  "  with  breathless  suspicion  —  "  are  you  crying 
for  lost  faith  in  me  ?  You  think  me  too  stained  to 
be  lifted  by  such  hands  ! " 

"  No,  no,  no  !  "  cried  she,  hushing  herself.  "  No, 
you  have  only  suffered,  not  sinned  —  never  that. 
You  were 'deceived ;  you  could  not  do  wrong." 

"It  is  all  right,  then  !  "  asked  Stephen,  still  un 
satisfied.  "  You  love  me  ?  " 

WI  love  you  more,"  she  said,  sorrowfully.  "  Go 
now." 

Sne  kissed  his  forehead,  and  softly  touched  the 
bright  hair  above  it  with  her  hand.  It  was  like  a 
blessing,  and  he  could  not  ask  for  a  more  lover- 
like  good-night. 


CHAPTEK   IX. 

A   HIGHER   COURT. 

TTALF  that  night  Sarah  sat  by  the  fire,  facing 
-*--•-  her  problem.  In  the  one  moment  of 
realizing  Stephen's  disclosure,  a  fatal  denial  had 
branded  itself  into  the  living  flesh  of  her  heart. 
It  burned  there  now.  Stephen's  wife  was  alive ; 
iio  human  law  could  part  the  two  so  irrevocably 
that  either  would  have  a  right  to  form  new  ties. 
She  had  no  jealousy  of  the  other  woman ;  her 
falsity  seemed  to  debar  her  from  Stephen's  life 
as  entirely  as  it  would  have  done  from  Sarah's 
own.  In  her  pure  young  love  of  the  highest,  she 
could  imagine  no  longing  for  a  beautiful  dream 
when  a  waking  moment  had  pronounced  the  out 
lines  distorted,  and  transformed  the  bewitching 
haze  into  poisonous  vapor.  As  it  happened,  she 
was  right.  Stephen  had  nothing  but  repugnance 
for  his  past,  a  repugnance  that  was  tainting  his 
life  till  he  found  a  star  in  his  low  sky.  She  felt 
a  deep  compassion  for  him,  —  nothing  yet  for  her 
self.  She  was  young  and  strong,  fresh  from  her 
mother's  side,  new  to  trouble  and  able  to  bear  it. 
He  was  jaded  and  worn ;  he  needed  sunshine 
rather  than  continued  struggling  through  mists. 

131 


132  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

The  wisdom  quickly  born  of  love  taught  her 
this.  A  motherly  instinct  of  sparing  him  had 
kept  her  that  night  from  outward  decision.  The 
next  day  it  must  come.  Then,  when  his  low  tap 
came  at  her  door,  she  called  a  good-morning  and 
said  he  must  excuse  her  for  not  appearing  at 
breakfast.  She  had  risen  late  ;  she  might  be  away 
at  noon ;  he  need  not  come  home  with  the  hope  of 
seeing  her. 

"You  are  well,  dear?"  came  his  voice,  the  last 
word  in  a  whisper. 

"Quite  well,"  she  said,  clearly.  So  Stephen 
had  a  few  more  hours  of  confidence. 

Sarah  entered  upon  a  busy  day,  almost  solemnly. 
Did  any  one  ever  pledge  himself  to  a  great  renun 
ciation  or  purpose  without  a  new  sense  of  conse 
cration  to  all  other  duties  ?  She  ran  up  to  Linora's 
room,  finding  that  excitable  young  woman  in  a 
fever  of  discovery. 

"I  have  found  the  most  wonderful  medium," 
she  said,  impressively.  "You  really  must  see 
him.  He  is  controlled  by  an  old  lady,  and  she 
told  me  all  sorts  of  things  about  what  has  hap 
pened  to  me." 

"  Don't  go  again,  dear,"  said  Sarah.  All  the 
world  seemed  younger  than  herself  just  now. 
She  wanted  to  protect  it,  and  save  it  from  further 
danger  of  fall.  "  I  don't  believe  it's  good  for  any 
body." 


A    HIGHER    COURT.  133 

M  But  I  must  investigate,"  cried  Linora,  rising 
from  her  nest  of  pillows  and  looking,  with  her 
hair  rumpled,  like  a  little  goblin.  "  I  don't  care 
so  much  for  my  private  affairs  —  nobody  can  help 
them  much  —  "  with  the  old  dropping  of  her  lids, 
"but  I  feel  it  my  mission  to  investigate.  Miss 
Phebe,"  she  called,  as  that  lady  went  past  her 
door,  bearing  rattling  impedimenta  of  coal-scuttle 
and  dust-pan.  "Just  a  minute!  Won't  you  go 
with  me  to  see  a  medium?" 

Miss  Phebe,  her  head  temporarily  swaddled  in 
a  red  handkerchief,  the  insignia  of  sweeping, 
smiled  grimly.  She  always  did  smile  at  Linora, 
regarding  her  pranks  with  much  the  same  indul 
gence  due  to  a  kitten's  whisking  of  tail.  "I'd 
rather  go  to  a  good  play." 

"But,  Miss  Phebe,  if  you  went  once  you'd  go 
again." 

"  Fiddle-dee-dee  !  "  said  Miss  Phebe,  withdraw 
ing  the  length  of  her  countenance. 

"  The  Bible  says  the  witch  of  Endor  —  "  called 
Linora. 

"  The  Bible  speaks  of  answering  folks  accord 
ing  to  their  folly,"  came  tartly ,  with  an  undercurrent 
of  amusement  at  the  cleverness  involved  in  her 
repartee  ;  and  the  coal-scuttle  and  dust-pan  moved 
on. 

"I  should  think  your  brother  might  be  inter 
ested,"  said  Linora,  when  they  turned  to  each 


134  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

other,  with  a  smile  over  Miss  Phebe's  memory. 
"  Ho  seems  to  have  a  very  nervous,  impressible 
nature." 

"Poor  Bernard,  yes,"  said  Sarah,  with  a  sigh 
for  his  recent  strange  moods.  "  But  don't  ask  him. 
I  think  it  would  be  worse  for  him  than  for  any  one 
I  know.  But,  Linora,  why  do  you  try  to  draw 
your  friends  into  the  belief?  Is  it  from  a  mission 
ary  spirit  ?  " 

"Partly,"  said  Linora;  then,  with  a  childish 
frankness,  "  Not  altogether,  either.  Half  of  it  is 
selfishness.  You  know  I  was  brought  up  to  think 
a  chaperone  one  of  the  necessities  of  life.  Now 
here  in  this  democratic  Boston,  girls  as  young  as 
I  am  seem  to  go  about  alone,  and  so  I  try  to 
make  myself.  But  it  is  a  comfort  to  have  some 
one  with  me,  even  if  it  is  not  an  older  person." 

"Very  well,  dear.     I'll  go  anywhere  with  you." 

"  Go  to  Professor  Leonard's  ?  I  shall  go,  in  any 
case,"  with  a  quick  leap  at  her  own  purpose. 

"If  you  are  determined  to  go,  I'll  walk  there 
with  you  and  wait  till  you  see  him.  Not  to-day, 
though.  Now  I  must  find  Bernard." 

He  proved  to  be  in  his  own  room,  ready  to  go 
out.  A  portfolio  of  blank  paper  under  his  arm 
indicated  the  library. 

"O  Bernard,"  said  Sarah,  eagerly,  "let  me 
go  with  you.  How  I  should  like  to  spend  a  long 
day  with  you  and  a  book  !  " 


A    HIGHER   COURT.  135 

"You'll  disturb  me,"  he  said  roughly,  though  he 
wanted  her  more  than  anything  in  the  world. 

"  Disturb  you  ?     I  never  do ;  I'm  not  a  child  !  " 

"I  can  work  better  alone,"  pulling  his  sleeve 
away  from  her  hand. 

"  Bernard,  what  is  it,  lately?  "  asked  Sarah,  with 
the  patience  of  wounded  affection.  "  You  are  so 
changed.  You  never  spend  your  evenings  with 
me — ' 

"Arc  you  lonely,  then?"  he  sneered. 

A  quick  blush  stained  her  face,  as  memory 
threw  before  "her  eyes  the  record  of  happy  hours. 

"  No,  I  have  been  very  happy,"  she  said.  "  But, 
Bernard,  I  care  for  you ;  I  miss  you,"  she  added 
softly,  seeking  to  heal  whatever  wound  he  had. 
"Don't  be  so  unjust ;  you  are  not  generous." 

He  looked  at  her,  with  his  face  contracting. 

"  You  see  it  in  me  too  ?  You  are  right ;  I've 
got  in  me  every  vile  trait  a  man  ever  had.  Don't 
speak  to  me  again.  Don't  come  near  me  !  " 

He  ran  down  stairs,  and  left  her  to  follow  in 
sore  bewilderment.  But  she  put  thought  of  him 
aside.  There  would  be  time  enough  later  to  make 
things  right  there  ;  the  coming  moments  must  hold 
her  good-by  to  Stephen.  He  came  that  evening, 
boyish,  radiant.  Now  she  knew  him  as  he  was,  and 
did  not  love  him  less.  He  was  ready  for  the  fut 
ure  ;  the  past  had  received  its  cancelling  stroke. 
He  held  out  his  arms  ;  she  must  fly  to  him,  sharing 


136  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

his  fulness  of  joy.  But  she  shook  her  head  with  an 
effort  at  smiling.  Her  shyness  disappointed  him. 

"Well,"  he  said,  with  his  habitual  shrug  of 
the  shoulders,  "must  I  beg  my  way?  " 

"No,"  said  Sarah,  trying  to  speak  lightly,  but 
feeling  her  heart  die  within  her.  It  was  going  to 
be  harder  than  she  thought.  "  Sit  down,  please. 
I  want  to  tell  you  something." 

Stephen  began  to  look  at  her  searchingly.  She 
felt  her  limbs  trembling.  Her  mouth  seemed  to 
stiffen,  and  her  teeth  chattered  with  cold. 

"  Did  you  ever  think  —  " 

"Dear,  if  it's  something  hard  to  say,  why  not 
say  it  here  ? "  He  held  out  his  arms  again,  but 
Sarah  shook  her  head  and  turned  her  eyes  from 
his.  The  gas-lamp  opposite  was  being  lighted ; 
it  flamed  up  as  he  spoke. 

"Did  you  ever  think,"  she  went  on,  still  frozen, 
"that,  the  woman  being  alive,  you  had  no  right  to 
marry  ?  " 

All  Stephen's  jubilance  died  down  like  a  fire 
suddenly  extinguished.  So  he  must  face  the  old 
spectre  once  more  !  Now  it  had  become  more  hor 
rible,  —  a  ghoul,  with  malicious  eyes. 

"No,  the  law  gave  me  full  liberty  to  do  so.  I 
have  always  known  that,  though  I  never  expected 
to  use  it." 

"  Did  you  ever  think  that  the  law  had  no  power 
to  give  you  liberty  ?  " 


A    HIGHER    COURT.  137 

"Do  you  mean,"  he  asked,  in  a  hard  voice, 
"  do  you  mean  you  will  not  marry  me  ?  " 

"Not  while  she  lives,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper. 

The  silence  was  so  long  that  Sarah  felt  it  might 
be  broken  by  a  shriek  from  her  own  lips.  Then 
she  durcd  turn  to  him.  Stephen  was  looking  into 
vacancy,  his  face  haggard  and  old. 

"  God  !  isn't  it  a  little  too  hard  ?  "  he  said  qui 
etly.  "  Do  you  punish  crimes  as  you  punish  me 
for  being  a  fool?" 

"  Oh,  I  know  how  your  throat  feels ! "  cried 
Sarah,  childishly,  at  the  sound  of  his  voice.  "It's 
dreadful,  isn't  it?" 

She  moved  swiftly  towards  him  and  stood  by  his 
side,  her  beautiful  eyes  full  of  compassion.  Ste 
phen  slowly  raised  his  own  to  them ;  they  gathered 
flame.  He  put  his  hand  on  her  wrist  and  held  it 
firmly. 

"  Is  it  your  personal  feeling  for  me  ?  "  he  said, 
searching  her  face  with  eyes  that  must  have  com 
pelled  the  truth.  "Are  you  changed?  Is  it 
disgust?" 

"Oh,  no,  no,  no!"  she  cried,  quickly,  with  a 
momentary  impulse  towards  him.  "  I  love  you. 
You  are  everything  to  me  !  It  is  God's  law." 

The  change  that  swept  over  his  face  was  like  the 
light  and  shade  from  flying  summer  clouds.  Now 
there  was  light. 

"  To  the  winds  with  your  silly  scruples  !    You 


138  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

are  mine  ;  I  will  never  give  you  up  !  "  He  had 
drawn  her  into  his  arms,  his  heart  beating  in  tri 
umphant  mockery  of  her  fallen  resolutions.  A 
sense  of  despair  seized  her.  She  must  yield,  she 
felt,  only  to  repent  to-morrow. 

"You  hurt  my  wrist,"  she  whispered,  with  a 
feminine  instinct  as  to  her  choice  of  weapons.  He 
was  still  holding  it  with  all  the  energy  of  pain. 
She  was  released,  and  the  red,  bruised  flesh  cov 
ered  with  kisses. 

"Darling,  how  can  you  love  a  brute?  You  will 
never  forgive  me  this,  even  if  you  can  forgive  me 
for  loving  you  !  " 

Sarah  drew  her  hand  away  and  retreated  to  the 
hearth.  There  were  the  two  chairs  where  they  had 
so  often  sat  like  married  lovers  and  dreamed  of 
an  assured  future. 

"Come  and  sit  here,  please.  Now  let  us  be 
serious,  —  and  quiet.  Stephen,  it  may  be  right 
for  you  to  marry,  if  you  feel  it  so,  but  it  is  not 
right  for  me." 

"  Has  the  law  pretended  to  free  me,  and  left  me 
bound?" 

"  I  think  it  has  only  freed  you  from  present  un- 
bappiness.  It  hasn't  given  you  a  right  to  choose 
new  ways  of  happiness." 

"  Then  the  law,  according  to  your  idea,  is  an 
infallible  vengeance,  not  reformatory  in  the  least?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean.     Don't  be  bitter. 


A    HIGHER   COURT.  139 

Stephen,  not  yet ;  it  is  so  much  easier  to  talk  if 
you  are  not."  He  bent  forward  and  touched  her 
hand  softly. 

"  I'll  try  not,  dear.     Go  on." 

"I  have  only  this  one  thing  to  say  over  and 
over.  When  you  were  married,  your  promise 
was  made  for  life." 

A  flush  rose  to  his  face,  —  a  savage  shame  at 
what  he  had  to  remember. 

"Sarah,  you  must  hear  hard  facts.  Do  you 
realize  that  when  the  woman  went  from  my  house 
to  another  man's  arms,  the  promise  was  broken?" 

"  For  her,  not  for  you." 

"  You  are  a  strange  physician,"  he  said,  bitterly. 
"  You  think  my  moral  health  would  have  been  im 
proved  if  I  had  carried  about  with  me  this  eating 
sore." 

"  No,  not  that.  You  were  free.  It  would  have 
been  horrible  to  live  together  after  that.  But  a 
new  marriage  would  have  no  sacredness." 

"  Not  even  with  you  ?  "  He  was  only  the  lover 
now,  adoring  but  conquering.  She  feared  her 
own  strength,  set  face  to  face  with  his  charm. 

"Not  even  with  me,"  she  said,  steadily.  "I 
should  only  be  your  mistress." 

"  God  forbid  !  "  said  Stephen,  rising  and  walk 
ing  to  the  window.  "Your  purity  shall  never 
feel  itself  sullied  by  me." 

To  be  protected  was  too  much,  after  standing 


140  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

BO  wearily  alone.  She  fell  into  soft  weeping.  He 
came  back  to  stand  before  her.  He  was  armed 
with  reason  this  time,  not  persuasion. 

"Don't  cry,  dearest,  don't  cry.  Nothing  is 
worth  one  of  your  tears.  Listen.  In  this  world 
everything  is  so  full  of  contrariety  and  we  are 
such  weak  fools,  that  it  is  almost  impossible 
to  get  along  without  mistakes.  You  don't  believe 
in  eternal  punishment  hereafter,  —  why  do  you 
insist  on  life-long  punishment  here  ?  " 

"I  don't.     But  happiness  isn't  all." 

"No,  but  in  this  case  it  is  not  my  happiness 
alone  that  is  in  question.  It  is  my  good,  my  one 
chance  of  life.  Sarah,  you  know  well  enough  what 
I  was  when  I  found  you,  — sneering  at  pretences 
of  good,  unbelieving,  forsaken  of  ideals.  You 
know  what  will  surely  happen  if  you  marry  me. 
I  shall  live  as  I  never  have  —  as  I  only  dreamed  it 
was  possible  to  live,  when  I  was  a  boy." 

He  had  meant  to  meet  her  argument  for  argu 
ment,  but  his  heart  would  make  itself  heard  in 
defiance  of  resolutions. 

Sarah  could  only  repeat  wearily,  "  It  would  be 
no  marriage." 

M  Dear,  there  have  been  a  few  high  souls  who 
were  not  afraid  to  choose  for  themselves.  If  you 
think  it  would  be  no  marriage,  still  come,  and  be 
everything  to  me." 

"I  cannot !  I  cannot !  "  she  repeated,  the  word 


A    HIGHER   COURT.  141 

ending  in  a  cry.  She  could  only  belie  her  heart, 
that  had  lost  all  voice  but  one  of  pleading  in  his 
cause. 

"  Shall  I  take  off  the  little  ring?  "  asked  Stephen. 
In  his  dying  hope,  he  caught  desparingly  at  what 
ever  trifle  might  move  her.  Sarah  looked  at  it  on 
the  hand  that  lay  in  her  lap.  The  moment  of  his 
putting  it  on,  his  joy  in  the  symbol,  flashed  upon 
her  and  roused  her. 

"  Oh,  no,  not  you  !  "  she  cried,  longing  to  save 
him  pain.  "Let  me  do  it.  It  will  be  easier." 

Stephen  stayed  her  other  hand  as  it  came  to  do 
his  work.  He  bent  on  one  knee  to  look  at  the 
stone. 

"  See,  princess  !  "  he  whispered.  "  See  how  it 
burns !  " 

In  the  shadow  of  her  dress,  the  opal  was  like 
flame, — a  heart  of  fire  in  a  shimmering  sea  of 
green  and  violet  and  milk. 

..  "Take  it  for  an  omen.  It  means  nothing  but 
love." 

The  mighty  bond  of  nature  which  lies  between  the 
man  and  woman  tightened,  like  an  invisible  chain; 
Their  eyes  met.  Some  blinding  consciousness 
came  to  her  that  in  another  moment  her  lips  would 
passively  confess  surrender.  The  saving,  valiant 
right  hand  did  its  work,  snatched  off  the  ring 
and  held  it,  while  she  rose  and  looked  at  him, 
trembling.  Stephen  rose  too,  flushed  with  an 


142  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

adoring  admiration,  too  much  in  love  with  her  for 
pain. 

"  The  spirit  of  all  the  Romans  was  nothing  to 
yours  !  "  he  said,  between  his  teeth.  "  My  darling, 
do  as  you  will.  Make  me  serve  all  my  life,  wheth 
er  you  are  mine  or  not." 

"  Then  go ;  I  am  so  tired  !  "  she  said,  brokenly. 

It  was  best,  he  saw.  He  could  only  excite  her 
now  ;  he  bent  to  kiss  the  little  hand  that  held  the 
mantel,  and  was  gonet  The  ring  lay  still  clenched 
in  her  palm.  She  looked  at  it,  when  she  was 
alone,  as  her  heart  had  begged  her  to  look  at  him, 
kissed  it  good-night,  and  slept  with  it  under  her 
pillow. 

Though  she  could  tell  no  one,  and  could  scarcely 
conceive  of  asking  even  her  mother  for  help,  had 
she  been  there,  Sarah's  greatest  grief  for  herself 
lay  in  the  fact  that  she  must  be  entirely  alone. 
Stephen  was  thenceforth  to  be  resisted  as  her  ene 
my.  There  was  needed  some  one  who,  by  a  com 
forting  and  ennobling  presence,  could  hold  her  up 
to  the  demands  of  her  best  self.  She  could  not 
turn  to  Bernard ;  he  was  too  hopelessly  changed. 

Bernard,  too,  longed  for  companionship;  his 
days  were  growing  sadly  lonely,  though  the  lone 
liness  was  the  result  of  his  own  caprice.  But  the 
consequences  of  one's  deeds  are  no  pleasanter  for 
coining  logically.  A  little  obliquity  in  cause  and 
effect  would  be  far  more  palatable.  Bernard  re- 


A    HIGHER    COURT.  143 

fleeted,  with  a  morbid  self-pity,  that  there  was  no 
one  in  the  world  to  whom  he  could  turn  for  eom- 
panionship.  Stephen  he  hated ;  his  easy  good- 
humor  was  but  patronage.  With  Linora  he  had 
always  been  at  sword's  points,  feeling  sure  she  rid 
iculed  him.  That  was  true,  though  her  jesting 
was  merry  enough  to  pass  unchallenged  before  a 
less  critical  judgment.  Only  Bernard  knew  how 
it  stung.  The  uncouthness  that  shrouded  his  set 
of  tingling  nerves  was  very  ridiculous  to  Linora. 
He  reminded  her  of  some  strange  animal,  and  she 
was  always  privately  trying  to  guess  what  it  might 
be.  It  amused  her  better  to  ilay  him,  bit  by  bit, 
with  satire,  than  to  win  him  over  to  her  set  of  ad 
herents. 

"You  should  sing,  Mr.  Ellis,"  she  said  once, 
innocently.  Her  shots  were  always  despatched 
when  some  one  was  by,  before  whom  they  could 
be  delivered  without  fear  of  too  blunt  retaliation. 
"You  look  so  musical." 

Bernard  writhed  and  trembled,  while  Sarah  won 
dered  at  his  disturbance. 

"  You  arc  right,  Miss  Gale,  though  I  don't  know 
that  you  are  aware  of  it,"  said  Stephen,  coining  to 
the  rescue.  "Ellis  has  a  musical  face.  He  has 
sometimes  a  turn  of  expression  which  suggests 
the  great  composers."  And  though  Stephen  was 
honest,  Bernard  set  him  down  as  gibing  with  the 


144  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

rest.     All  the  world  would  soon  be  ready  to  mock 
at  him. 

Sarah  had  been  won  by  Stephen ;  Bernard  was 
sure  of  that.  He  had  hated  her  for  not  telling  him, 
if  it  were  so,  and  shrank  back  shivering  at  the  fear 
that  she  would.  And  while  he  wept  and  prayed 
by  himself  for  even  her  toleration,  —  not  her  love, 
—  he  met  every  advance  she  made  with  roughness. 
Through  all  his  moods  beat,  like  the  throbbing  of 
a  wound,  the  consciousness  that  he  was  not  akin 
to  the  pure-minded ;  that  his  soul  was  indelibly 
stamped  from  birth  with  some  stain  that  impressed 
it  through  and  through. 


CHAPTER    X. 

NEWS   FROM   COVENTRY. 

OTEPHEN  had  only  retired  from  the  field,  confi- 
^  dent  that  on  his  side  no  surrender  was  possible. 
Sarah's  denial  represented  nothing  more  than  an 
illogical  scruple,  to  be  overcome  by  persuasion  of 
love  or  reason.  Able  to  estimate  very  fairly  the 
amount  of  suffering  meted  out  to  him  from  his  un 
lucky  past,  he  decidedly  refused  further  retribu 
tion  ;  and  what,  but  a  voluntary  sacrifice  to  Neme 
sis,  would  be  the  withdrawal  of  his  suit?  He 
loved  Sarah  the  more  for  her  decision  ;  it  stood  as 
proof  of  her  pure  adherence  to  an  immaculate 
standard  of  right,  though  he  confidently  foresaw, 
in  the  growth  of  her  heart,  the  promise  of  a  higher 
revelation.  When  that  should  come,  as  it  must 
speedily,  he  having  access  to  her  ear,  she  would 
choose  with  him  the  mountain-tops  of  exaltation, 
leaving  these  cold  valleys  where  prevailed  only  a 
meaningless  rigor  of  law.  Their  future  should 
win  from  her  many  a  smile  over  the  childish  scru 
ples  of  her  past. 

If  he  could  have  known  how  his  arguments  had 
shaken  her  he  would  have  grown  more  hopeful  still. 
Sarah  remained  by  no  means  convinced  of  having 

146 


146  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

done  right.  She  had  religiously  adhered  to  her 
preconceived  theories,  but  did  those  theories  rep 
resent  the  highest  wisdom  ?  Might  not  great  love 
give  an  insight  of  its  own,  transcending  every 
thing  learned  of  tradition  ?  She  could  but  remem 
ber  the  great  cases,  destined  always  to  be  cited  in 
morals,  wherein  the  highest  course  has  proved  that 
of  transgression,  the  choice  of  a  liberty  which  has 
become  in  its  turn  law.  Might  not  her  own  prob 
lem  be  of  the  color  of  these  ? 

She  had  been  moved  by  no  argument  or  per 
suasion  as  by  his  picture  of  the  barrenness  of  his 
life  without  her.  She  felt  its  perfect  truth.  In 
this  short  period  of  their  courtship  she  had  some 
times  trembled  before  his  reverence  of  her  nature 
and  its  demands.  Whenever  that  had  arisen 
which  required  the  pure  heart  and  keen  vision 
which  make  and  uphold  moral  decisions,  he  had 
always  virtually  retired,  leaving  her  the  field  as 
one  whose  paths  were  familiar  to  her  tread.  That 
he  by  no  means  bowed  to  her  judgment  in  this 
last  case,  shook  her  own  belief  in  herself.  Stephen 
must  be  absolutely  confident  on  his  side  of  the 
question.  Could  he  be  so  without  some  measure 
of  right  on  his  side  ? 

The  next  night  he  came  again,  at  his  usual  time, 
apparently  neither  perplexed  nor  troubled. 

"I  know  you  have  reconsidered »  dear,"  }ie  saM-> 
with  a  smile. 


NEWS    FROM    COVENTRY.  147 

Sarah  shook  her  head. 

"Not  thought  it  over?  I  have,  and  I  can't  give 
you  up." 

The  same  battle  was  to  be  fought  over  again ; 
she  trembled  with  anticipation. 

"  If  you  could  tell  me  your  respect  or  love  had 
waned,  that  you  could  not  forgive  rue  for  being  such 
a  poor  fool,  I  would  leave  you  at  once.  Is  it  so  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Then  I  can  make  you  happy.  Moreover,  I 
will." 

A  confident  lover  could  be  better  withstood  than 
one  despairing.  Her  spirit  rose  to  meet  his  chal 
lenge. 

"  You  never  shall !  " 

Stephen's  eyes  flashed  ominously. 

"  You  cannot  rid  yourself  of  me  so  long  as  you 
confess  you  love  me.  I  will  not  go.  I  have  no  pride 
where  you  are  concerned ;  I  have  no  chivalry, 
cither.  As  to  the  last,  you  will  be  far  happier  if  I 
stay  with  you  and  make  you  miserable,  than  if  I 
obey  you  and  go." 

It  was  true.  She  felt  it  and  flushed  consciously, 
though  her  head  was  still  high  with  pride. 

"You  are  very  beautiful !  "  said  Stephen,  in  low- 
toned  admiration.  "You  are  more  like  a  splendid 
young  horse  than  anything.  Toss  your  head,  dear 
creature  !  You  shall  never  be  tamed,  though  you 
shall  love  your  master." 


148  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

It  was  becoming  an  encounter  of  lovers'  wits. 
The  great  question  was  falling  far  behind.  Sarah 
felt  that,  and  bravely  dragged  it  to  the  front 
again. 

"  Stephen,  all  this  is  not  to  the  purpose.  You 
have  no  right  to  admire  me  or  —  caress  me,  when 
I  take  away  the  right." 

"I  have  my  soul  to  save  as  well  as  you,  fair 
saint.  You  are  my  heaven ;  I  shall  not  give  you 
up." 

"  But  I  have  given  you  up.  Our  paths  are  dif 
ferent." 

"  Truly  ?  Then  one  of  us  must  forsake  his  own 
road,  for  we  go  together." 

She  was  not  of  less  inflammable  matter  than  he. 

"I  refuse  to  marry  you!  You  are  rejected. 
Are  you  so  little  of  a  gentleman  as  to  stay  ?  " 

"Just  that.  I  am  your  slave  ;  you  can't  trans 
mute  base  blood  into  noble." 

"  Stephen,  go  !  "  she  cried  at  last,  humbling  her 
self  to  appeal.  "  Only  go  to-night.  I  must 
think." 

"Will  you  leave  your  door  open  while  I  play?" 

"  Yes,  anything  — only  go." 

That  approach  to  her  ear  was  well  chosen,  for 
Sarah  must  take  her  place  among  the  untaught 
worshippers  of  music.  Her  face  covered  by  her 
hands,  she  listened,  and  was  moved,  as  he  was 
praying  that  she  should  be.  The  appeal  and  an- 


NEWS   FROM    COVENTRY.  149 

guish,  the  supplication  of  minor  chords,  she  could 
withstand  ;  but  not  the  flowing  of  the  melody  his 
fingers  presently  wove,  that  was  like  an  endless 
marriage-song  of  joy.  Jubilant  at  first,  full  of 
ecstasy  at  its  triumph,  it  led  into  mazes  of  sweet 
wandering  through  the  green  fields  of  wedded  con 
tent.  It  stopped  on  a  hasty  chord,  and  he  was 
hurrying  down  to  her.  She  could  deny  him  no 
longer,  but  she  could  not  decide  in  hot  blood, — 
and  Stephen  found  the  door  closed  and  silence 
within. 

After  this,  she  scarcely  saw  him  for  a  week. 
She  knew  him  too  well  to  hope  he  had  taken 
her  at  her  word.  The  battle  between  the  two 
wills  must  be  renewed,  and  she  must  somehow 
gain  strength  and  confidence.  For  every  day  her 
consciousness  grew  that  there  were  two  balancing 
sides  to  her  question,  and  she  wondered  more  and 
more  if  the  spirit  of  her  love  might  not  be  fuller 
of  divine  life  than  the  letter  of  her  belief. 

During  this  time  Linora  was  beseeching  her  to 
visit  Professor  Leonard.  Linora  herself  went  al 
most  daily,  now,  to  one  medium  or  another ;  and 
though  Sarah  still  reasoned  and  pleaded  against 
such  mistaken  zeal,  she  was  conscious  that  the 
subject  had  aroused  a  vivid  curiosity  in  her  own 
mind.  In  consequence,  she  one  day  agreed  to 
witness  an  interview  with  the  man  of  magic,  — 
this  to  Linora's  great  delight.  But  with  their 


150  FOOLS  OF  NATURE. 

entrance  into  the  medium's  little  waiting-room  her 
courage  failed,  or  her  disgust  arose,  and  she  re 
fused  to  go  further.  Linora  was  injured,  indignant, 
and  coaxing  to  no  purpose ;  if  she  would  keep  her 
appointment,  it  could  only  be  by  leaving  Sarah 
without,  as  she  presently  realized. 

An  old  man  was  turning  over  the  album  in  the 
waiting-room,  —  Uncle  Ben  himself.  He  had  come 
up  that  morning,  and  had  not  yet  announced  his 
arrival  to  Leonard.  He  meant  to  take  his  turn 
and  go  in  after  Linora,  standing  hidden  in  the 
shadow  of  the  curtain,  when  the  latter  was 
beckoned  in. 

"  You  goin'  to  have  a  sittin'  after  your  friend  ?  " 
he  began,  when  Sarah  put  down  her  newspaper. 
She  looked  up  to  catch  his  sunny  smile,  and  trust 
him  immediately. 

"  No,  I  am  only  waiting  for  her." 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes  !  Well,  young  folks  don't  have 
so  much  call  to  get  comfort  from  them  that's  on 
the  other  side  as  some  of  us  do.  But  I  like  to 
have  the  young  believers.  They  can  help  on  the 
cause  better  than  we  can." 

Sarah's  interest  rose.  "I  see  you  believe,"  she 
said,  smiling. 

"  Yes,  anybody  could  see  it,  I  hope.  I  mean  to 
speak  a  good  word  for  it  everywhere  I  can.  It's 
meat  an'  drink  to  me." 

"  I  wish  you  could  tell  me  something  about  it," 


NEWS   FROM   COVENTRY.  151 

she  began,  hesitating  between  a  sudden  loving 
interest  in  him,  and  a  fear  of  encroaching.  "  It  is 
quite  new  to  me." 

"I  see,  I  see;  there's  a  good  many  so,"  said 
Uncle  Ben,  nodding.  "Never  lost  anybody,  I 
s'pose,  an'  don't  feel  the  drawin'  we  do,  that  have 
folks  on  the  other  side  ?  " 

The  quick  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes. 

"  There,  there  I  anybody  but  me'd  have  known 
bctter'n  that ! "  said  Uncle  Ben,  in  distress,  hastily 
removing  his  hat  from  the  floor  to  a  table,  as  a 
delicate  excuse  for  looking  away  from  her. 

"  You  needn't  be  sorry  for  speaking,"  said  Sarah, 
at  once.  "  My  mother  died  last  year.  My  father 
is  dead,  too,  but  I  can't  remember  him." 

"Pretty  hard!  pretty  hard !"  said  Uncle  Ben, 
"  unless  you  can  have  a  word  from  'em  now  and 
then.  I  al'ays  think,  too,  how  hard  it  must  seem 
to  the  young  to  wait,  with  so  many  years  afore 
'em,  an'  we  almost  through." 

"  But  it's  a  beautiful  world,"  said  Sarah,  quickly. 
It  was  always  a  point  of  honor  with  her  to  uphold 
the  praises  of  her  birthplace. 

"Yes,  yes,  that's  so.  I  like  to  hear  the  new 
generation  say  that.  It  shows  they'll  make  the 
most  of  their  privileges,  an'  they've  got  a  good 
deal  to  answer  for.  Now  I  hope  you  remember 
to  think  what  a  privilege  'tis  to  be  sound  in  wind 
an' limb?" 


152  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

Sarah  laughed.  "Perhaps;  not  often,  though, 
I'm  afraid ;  but  I  enjoy  my  strength." 

"  That's  so  ;  that's  just  it ;"  nodding  to  her  over 
his  stout  cane.  "  You  don't  have  to  think  about 
your  hearin',  nor  your  eyesight,  nor  your  sciatic 
nerve.  I  often  think  if  I  could  go  out  mo  win' 
an'  feel  gallons  of  blood  goin'  like  coach-horses 
through  my  veins,  as  I  used  to,  I  should  be  some 
good  in  the  world.  All  I  can  do  now  is  to  have 
faith  an'  believe." 

"  That  is  a  great  deal,  I  think,"  said  Sarah,  shyly ; 
"a  very  great  thing  to  do," 

"Well,  well,  we  must  all  be  contented  with  our 
powers,"  said  Uncle  Ben,  the  smile  coming  back, 
to  wrinkle  his  face  into  sunny  ridges.  "  Some  are 
made  prophets,  and  some  of  us  can't  be  anything 
but  sort  of  underwitted  bein's,  clingin'  to  the  hand 
that  feeds  us.  But  now  about  spiritualism  ;  if  you 
should  ever  feel  a  drawin'  towards  it,  you'll  find  the 
medium  in  there  can  tell  you  things  worth  hearin'." 

"Is  he  a  good  medium ?"  asked  Sarah,  chiefly 
from  the  desire  of  leading  him  on. 

"  I've  known  him  ever  since  he  was  a  boy  and 
had  just  begun  to  develop.  He's  got  great 
powers,  an'  he's  gentle  an'  tender  an'  honest  in  his 
heart.  Oh,  you  can  trust  him !  I  al'ays  feel 
bound  to  think  o'  that,  too,  in  a  medium ;  there's 
just  as  much  lyin'  an'  cheatin'  in  this  as  there  is  in 
any  faith.  Even  religion  ain't  free  from  it." 


NEWS   FROM    COVENTRY.  153 

Linora  presently  appeared,  and  Sarah  bade  her 
new  friend  good-by,  offering  him  her  hand,  with 
a  sudden  impulse  of  reverence.  As  they  were  on 
their  way  down  stairs  she  heard  him  calling,  and 
going  back,  found  him  hurrying  to  meet  her. 

"I  was  most  afraid  I  shouldn't  overtake  you," 
said  he.  "  There's  one  thing  I  ought  to  ha'  said. 
I  told  you  where  to  go  if  you  should  feel  any 
drawin'  towards  spiritualism  ;  but  if  you  shouldn't 
come  to  be  interested  in  it  nat'rally,  I  wouldn't 
force  it.  Some  are  ready  for  it  an'  some  ain't !  I 
wouldn't  force  it." 

"  If  your  Professor  Leonard  were  like  that  dear 
old  man,  Linora,"  said  Sarah,  as  they  walked 
away,  "I  might  be  willing  to  make  him  my  con 
fessor.  Did  you  notice  the  sweetness  of  his  ex 
pression  ?  And  he  is  wise." 

"  Would  you  truly  go  ?  "  said  Linora,  her  eyes 
beginning  to  dance.  "  Well,  they're  very  much 
alike.  Professor  Leonard  is  a  dear  old  gentle 
man." 

"  Old  !     I  thought  you  said  he  was  young." 

"  You're  thinking  of  the  young  man  who  showed 
me  in.  Professor  Leonard  is  white-haired  and 
venerable.  Now  I  hold  you  to  your  word." 

Uncle  Ben  had  gone  back  and  succeeded  in  sur 
prising  Leonard.  It  warmed  his  heart  to  find  the 
boy  so  fond  of  him,  and  so  unspoiled  by  pros 
perity. 


154  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

"But  we'd  better  get  to  business,  Lenny,"  he 
said,  interrupting  an  avalanche  of  questions  about 
the  farm.  "You  must  give  me  a  sittin'  this  time. 
We've  got  to  see  trouble,  Lenny,  you  an'  me,  I'm 
afraid.  Maria  ain't  well." 

"  Aunt  Maria  !     How  long's  she  been  sick  ?  " 

"  She's  up  an'  around  this  mornin',  but  she's  had 
a  pretty  ill  turn.  When  I  come  in  from  the  barn 
day  'fore  yesterday,  she  was  on  the  lounge  an' 
couldn't  move  nor  speak." 

"What  was  it?" 

"Her  heart.  She  had  to  tell  me  all  about  it 
then,  though  she  was  a  good  deal  put  out  with 
herself  for  lettin'  me  know.  She's  had  the  spells 
nigh  onto  two  year,  an'  ain't  told  nobody  but 
Lomie,  an'  wouldn't  ha'  told  her  if  Lomie  hadn't 
found  her  in  one  an'  promised  to  keep  it  from  me." 

"  O  Uncle  Ben  !  "  cried  Leonard,  his  eyes  full 
of  great  tears  ;  "  what  are  we  going  to  do  ?  " 

"Lenny,  boy,  we  shall  have  to  do  exactly  as  the 
good  Lord  says,"  said  the  old  man,  patting  his 
shoulder  and  smiling  at  him.  "Just  exactly.  It 
ain't  been  easy  for  me  to  be  reconciled.  For  two 
nights,  I've  been  almost  questionin'  the  Lord,  an' 
wonderin'  how,  if  'twas  to  be,  I  could  give  Maria 
up.  An'  then  somethin'  says  to  me,  'You  selfish 
old  creatur',  when  you  ain't  got  a  day  to  live  your 
self,  here  you  are  grudgin'  your  girl  goin'  to  find 
out  her  home  afore  you.'  Then  I  give  up." 


NEWS   FROM   COVENTRY.  155 

"  Will  she  die  right  away  ?  "  asked  Len. 

"I  don't  think  it's  likely,"  said  the  old  man. 
"  She's  had  the  spells  two  years,  but  they've  been 
comin'  on  faster  for  a  couple  o'  months,  so  Lomie 
says.  An'  she  may  be  here  longer'n  any  of  us, 
an'  she  may  go  'most  any  time.  Now,  Lenny,  I  want 
to  have  a  sittin',  an'  have  you  ask  if  there  ain't 
somethin'  can  be  done  for  her." 

"  Oh,  get  a  doctor  !     Don't  stop  for  sittings  ! " 

"  Lenny,  don't  speak  so.  You're  young,  an'  you 
ain't  reverent,  sometimes.  No,  set  down  an*  see 
if  the  influences  won't  come." 

Leonard  yielded  with  a  sigh,  and  led  the  way 
into  the  inner  room.  Then  he  closed  his  eyes, 
and  seemed  to  fall  at  once  into  an  abnormal 
state. 

"The  old  lady's  here,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  not 
quite  his  natural  one. 

"  Aunt  Peggy  !     Yes,  go  on  !  " 

"She  puts  her  hand  on  her  side  as  if  she  had 
pain  there." 

"Yes,  she  takes  on  Maria's  conditions.  Now 
what  does  she  say  we  shall  do  ?  " 

Leonard's  face  gathered  an  expression  of  gen 
uine  misery,  until  he  burst  forth,  — 

"  She  doesn't  say  anything,  only  keeps  her  hand 
on  her  side.  She  don't  say  a  word." 

"Try,  Lenny,  try ;  be  patient,"  said  Uncle  Ben, 
an  extremity  of  impatience  in  his  own  voice. 


156  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

The  door  opened  softly,  and  Biker  walked  in, 
his  eyes  closed,  his  hands  tightly  clenched. 

"This  medium  is  under  control  of  those  who 
have  most  interest  in  you,"  he  began  monoto 
nously.  "  The  other  medium  is  tired ;  listen  to 
this  one." 

"  Thank  the  Lord  !  "  said  Uncle  Ben  fervently. 
"I  knew  they  would  have  something  for  me." 

So  Leonard  opened  his  eyes  and  listened,  while 
Biker  went  on. 

"  Me  big  Injun  —  medicine  man,"  he  said  guttur- 
ally.  "  Squaw  much  sick ;  me  make  her  live 
many  moons  more.  Me  put  hand  on  heart  and 
stroke  it.  Squaw  not  get  well,  but  live  many 
moons." 

"That's  good  news,"  said  Uncle  Ben.  "You'll 
be  with  her,  won't  you?  An'  ain't  there  some 
thing  we  can  do  for  her  ?  " 

"  No  —  what  you  call  it  ?  —  excitement.  Not  let 
her  see  folks  she  would  be  much  glad  or  much 
sorry  to  see.  Don't  let  young  brave  here,"  put 
ting  his  hand  on  Len's  knee,  "  not  let  him  go  there 
yet.  She  be  too  heap  glad." 

"Oh,"  cried  Len,  in  a  sorrow  long  drawn  out, 
"I  wanted  to  go  down  right  away." 

"Brave  not  go  yet, — go  sometime.  Now  we 
want  to  send  medium  out  on  smoking  steam  horse, 
to  give  big  talk."  Biker  came  to  himself  with  a 
start,  and  opened  blank  eyes  on  the  two  tearful 


NEWS   FROM    COVENTRY.  157 

people  before  him.  "  Ah  !  I've  either  pleased  or 
troubled  you,"  he  smiled.  "Dear  Uncle  Ben, 
how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  !  " 

"The  Lord  forever  bless  you,  sir!"  returned 
the  old  man,  fervently.  "I  wish  I  could  do  one 
quarter  as  much  for  you  as  you  have  done  for  me 
an'  mine." 

And  before  he  left,  he  had  decreased  the  obliga 
tion  by  fifty  dollars. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A   VERDICT. 

TTE  who  hesitates  is  lost,  says  the  proverb.  He 
-*—*-  who  looks  too  closely  on  both  sides  of  a 
question  sees  himself  in  danger  of  offending  the 
truth  on  either.  When  Stephen  came  in  for  his 
next  evening  with  Sarah,  it  was  with  softened  and 
graver  air.  He  was  no  longer  disposed  to  take 
her  audaciously  by  storm.  Further  waiting  had 
placed  her  scruples  in  a  light  which  made  him 
shrink  with  fear  lest  they  might  indeed  prove  irre 
vocable. 

"  You  know  why  I  have  come  ?  "  he  said,  smil 
ing  faintly. 

"  Yes,  to  ask  if  I  have  any  further  light.  I  have, 
Stephen,  but  it  confuses  me  the  more.  I  see  so 
much  reason  on  your  side." 

His  heart  leaped,  though  a  generous  impulse 
checked  the  coming  jubilance  of  word.  She  should 
take  her  own  course.  Yet,  so  deserving  of  victory 
did  his  arguments  seem,  that  over-persuasion  had 
begun  to  assume  the  guise  of  charity. 

"In  the  first  place,  I  know  you  would  never  ask 
me  to  do  what  you  thought  wrong,"  she  said,  lift 
ing  her  innocent  eyes  to  his. 

158 


A   VERDICT.  159 

"I  hope  not." 

"  And  your  standard  of  right  is  likely  to  be  quite 
as  high  as  mine  ;  higher,  since  you  know  more." 

"No,  you  are  wrong  there1,"  said  Stephen,  hon 
estly.  "My  intuitions  as  to  fine  questions  are 
smoke  compared  with  yours.  I  can  plod  along 
very  well  in  every-day  life,  but  as  to  very  ideal 
aspirations,  I  am  a  beast  of  the  field." 

"  Don't  say  such  things,  Stephen.  Now  I  sup 
pose,  in  the  sight  of  God,  you  are  free." 

"  I  hope  so  ;  I've  done  my  best  to  become  so." 

"  And  it  seems  only  just  that  you  should  be  al 
lowed  to  choose  a  new  life  after  shaking  off  the 
old." 

"  I  agree  with  you." 

"But,  after  all  is  said,  marriage  ought  to  last  till 
death,  —  the  sacredness  of  having  one  wife  or  one 
husband,"  she  cried,  piteously,  "  that  is  the  only 
right  thing." 

Stephen  was  silent,  debating  within  himself. 
Then  he  said,  gently,  "  Sarah,  in  all  your  thinking, 
have  you  thoroughly  considered  the  cause  of  my 
divorce  ?  Not  incompatibility,  you  know ;  no 
sentimental  reason,  but  the  old  sin,  the  one  that 
snaps  a  marriage  bond  like  rotten  thread." 

Sarah's  face  flushed  painfully.  "  I  know,"  she 
said  ;  "I  have  thought." 

"  Dear,  laws  are  for  the  protection  of  society. 
The  law  allows  me  to  marry  without  reproach  to 


160  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

myself  or  danger  of  injuring  other  people.  And 
you  know  there  is  a  law  of  human  development ; 
we  must  cast  off  old  fetters  and  take  on  new  hab 
its.  You  are  going  to  refuse  me  that  privilege." 

"No,  oh,  no,  but  something  —  not  my  heart  or 
reason  —  denies  every  word  you  say.  Stephen, 
give  me  a  little  time  to  think,  and  don't  come  near 
me  till  it  is  over." 

"Have  it  as  you  please,  dear,"  said  Stephen, 
rising  to  go,  and  touching  her  hand  softly.  But 
he  knew  well  that  if  she  decided  against  him,  he 
should  return  to  the  siege,  and  that  with  a  more 
desperate  courage  than  before. 

The  outward  actions  of  life  lost  their  savor  with 
the  girl.  She  scarcely  knew  what  she  ate  or  when 
she  slept.  All  action  seemed  concentrated  with 
in  ;  her  brain  had  become  a  whirling  maze  of  what 
might  prove  sophistry  or  truth.  She  could  no 
longer  distinguish  between  the  two.  Bernard  eyed 
her  jealously,  and  saw  her  less  and  less  often.  But 
Linora  grew  violently  curious,  her  fertile  little 
mind  suggesting  Stephen  as  the  moving  cause  of 
disturbance.  He  had  been  constantly  with  Sarah 
of  late  ;  now  they  met  less  often,  and  Sarah  was 
growing  ghostly  every  day. 

"  Ah,  dear,  if  you  had  only  taken  my  warning  !  " 
Linora  said  to  her  in  her  softest,  saddest  tones. 
"  I  told  you  he  was  fickle." 


A   VERDICT.  161 

"Who?" 

"  You  know,  —  Stephen  Mann.  Why  should  you 
mind  talking  it  over  with  ine?"  Annoyed  as 
Sarah  was,  her  bright  sense  of  humor  flashed 
up. 

"Linora,  what  a  sentimental  goose  you  are! 
Mr.  Mann  and  I  have  not  quarrelled." 

"No,  very  likely  not;  we  had  no  out-and-out 
quarrel." 

"  I  shall  need  to  visit  your  favorite  medium  to 
procure  balm  for  my  wounded  spirit,"  said  Sarah, 
jestingly. 

"Will  you,  really?  "  Linora  scented  emotions, 
fainting-fits,  tears,  afar  off,  and  neighed  like  the 
typical  war-horse. 

"  No,  assuredly  I  shall  not.  There  is  nothing  to 
moan  over,  and  if  there  were,  you  may  be  sure  I 
should  not  trust  it  to  a  man  in  a  trance." 

But  her  jest  nevertheless  fulfilled  itself  in  earn 
est.  There  come  times  when,  to  a  nature  like 
hers,  excitement,  abandonment,  are  as  necessary 
as  food  on  ordinary  days.  She  was  worn  out  with 
struggling.  How  weak  she  felt  herself,  how  pow 
erless  to  choose  the  wisest  right,  and  how  unable 
to  cling  to  it  after  it  should  be  chosen,  only  she 
knew.  Stephen,  though  he  saw  her  grow  paler 
day  by  day,  would  have  said  it  was  her  reason  only 
which  held  debate.  lie  was  wrong.  Her  whole 
nature  was  bound  upon  the  rack  of  a  torturing 


FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 


question,  rising  wearily  after  every  ordeal,  only 
to  fall  into  stupor. 

In  a  mood  which  made  her  anxious  only  to  es 
cape  harassment,  Linora  found  her,  and  reminded 
her  of  a  half  promise  to  see  Professor  Leonard. 
Sarah  agreed  at  once.  She  would  have  accepted 
a  ride  to  Tartarus  in  the  same  reckless  spirit. 

"  Now  remember  what  I  told  you,"  said  Linora, 
as  they  were  going  up  the  stairs.  "He  is  a  ven 
erable  old  gentleman,  and  you  will  like  him  a  great 
deal  better  than  your  farmer  friend.  But  promise 
me  one  thing,  —  that  after  you  are  in  the  room 
you  won't  change  your  mind  and  come  out." 

"  Of  course  not.     Why  should  I  ?  " 

"You  did  before,  you  know,  and  this  time  I  so 
want  you  to  go  through  with  it  !  " 

Professor  Leonard  was  at  liberty,  and  ushered 
Sarah  at  once  into  his  private  room.  She  had 
made  the  condition,  also,  that  whatever  was  told 
her  should  be  said  in  private. 

Leonard  was  in  an  excited  frame  of  mind.  A 
letter  from  Uncle  Ben  that  morning  informed  him 
that  Maria  had  been  ill  again.  A  rare  occurrence, 
his  own  cheeks  of  cherubic  plumpness  were  pale, 
and  Sarah's  first  thought  was  that  he  seemed  a 
pretty,  though  overgrown  youth. 

"  Take  a  chair  here,  if  you  please,"  said  Leonard, 
regarding  her  with  a  good  deal  of  reverence.  He 
was  always  on  his  knees  before  women,  and  this 


A   VERDICT.  163 

was  a  lady,  liner  even  than  her  clothes.  He  hoped 
with  all  his  heart  he  might  help  her,  since  she 
bore  the  facial  marks  of  mental  illness.  Sarah 
had  seated  herself,  and  noticed  that  he  was  draw 
ing  up  a  chair  at  a  little  distance. 

"  Is  Professor  Leonard  ready  to  see  me  ?  " 

"I  am  Professor  Leonard,"  said  the  young  man, 
smiling.  He  had  grown  to  feel  himself  almost  as 
well  known  as  the  State  House. 

As  the  meaning  of  Linora's  cunning  flashed  over 
her,  Sarah's  first  provoked  impulse  counselled  her 
to  take  summary  leave  ;  but  that  would  only  give 
rise  to  a  scene.  She  would  go  through  with  the 
interview  now,  reserving  her  indignation.  This 
boy  was  no  more  objectionable  than  if  he  wore 
gray  hair. 

"  Would  you  mind  having  the  windows  darkened  ? 
We  find  it  better.  Now  if  you  will  be  patient,  I'll 
see  if  anybody  will  come." 

.  He  closed  his  eyes  and  waited,  while  Sarah 
looked  curiously  around  the  room.  It  was  fur 
nished  simply,  in  neutral  tints  that  gave  back  a 
solemn  twilight  when  the  day  was  partially  shut 
out.  Hiker  had  been  wise  enough  to  please  the 
eye  while  the  ear  waited  for  heavenly  utterances. 

"  I  see  an  old  lady,  and  she  calls  you, '  My  child, 
dear  child,' "  said  Leonard,  in  a  subdued  voice.  In 
spite  of  her  scepticism,  Sarah's  heart  leaped  in 
answer.  "  She  is  your  mother.  She  sees  you 


164  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

are  troubled,  and  comes  to  tell  you  she  tries  to 
help  you." 

She  had  honestly  thought  it  would  be  profana 
tion  to  suffer  her  mother's  memory  to  be  tampered 
with  by  vulgar  clap-trap.  The  influence  of  the 
softened  light,  the  quick  yearning  impulse  that 
arose  towards  whatever  could  address  her  in  her 
mother's  guise,  overbore  every  other  feeling. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  said,  breathlessly. 

"She  says,  'You  poor  child;  how  you  have 
suffered ! '  " 

A  quick  sob  rose  in  her  throat.  She  had  suf 
fered  indeed.  No  mortal  being,  even  the  two 
nearest  her,  had  guessed  how  much.  It  was 
likely  that  only  the  finer  ears  of  the  dead  should 
have  heard  her  cries. 

"  She  says  there  are  two  paths  ahead  of  you. 
You  have  been  trying  to  choose  between  them  till 
you're  all  worn  out.  And  she  says  you  needn't 
be  so  unhappy." 

"Why?" 

"  You  think  you  can't  be  happy  ;  but  you  can."' 

"  I  must  do  right,"  whispered  Sarah.  She  had 
not  meant  to  speak,  but  the  words  forced  their 
way. 

"  You  will  do  it.  She  won't  let  you  do  anything 
else.  The  first  thing  you've  got  to  do  is  to  take 
the  pleasant  road.  I  see  it  now.  It's  all  flowers, 
—  white  flowers,  —  and  oh,  how  sweet  they  are  !  " 


A    VERDICT.  165 

"  Tell  me  more.     Tell  me  plainly." 

"  She  says  she  could  talk  different  if  the  medium 
wasn't  so  ignorant.  His  tongue  gets  all  twisted 
up,  and  he  can't  talk  well.  But  the  lady  wants  you 
to  take  the  beautiful  road  and  be  happy." 

"  Tell  me  more." 

"Not  now;  not  to-day.  This  is  enough,  if  you 
follow  it.  Only  take  the  path  with  flowers  ;  don't 
be  afraid,  and  don't  worry  any  more." 

Leonard  opened  his  eyes,  and  Sarah  hastily 
rose,  leaving  his  fee  on  the  table.  She  could  not 
speak  to  him.  A  further  word  from  him  in  his 
own  proper  person  could  only  vulgarize  what  bore 
the  stamp  of  the  supernatural. 

"  Well,  tell  me,"  said  Linora,  meeting  her. 

"  I  can't." 

"  That  means  he  told  you  something,"  said  Lin 
ora,  in  triumph.  "  I  know  well  enough  you'll  go 
again." 

"  Never,  as  long  as  I  live.  This  was  enough. 
I  can't  have  it  made  common."  And  in  spite  of 
entreaties,  and  even  pettishness,  she  would  say  no 
more.  Linora  began  to  think  there  had  not  been 
quite  as  much  entertainment  as  might  have  been 
expected  from  the  conversion  of  an  unbeliever. 

Sarah  was  penetrated  by  the  solemn  sense  of 
having  been  face  to  face  with  the  unknown.  In 
spite  of  her  overwrought  sensibilities  she  might  not 
have  fallen  so  quickly  into  belief  had  the  medium's 


166  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

personality  carried  any  offence  with  it.  But  Leon 
ard  always  affected  people  with  a  peculiar  tolerance. 
They  saw  him  to  be  simple  and  untrained,  but 
there  was  so  much  gentleness  and  honesty  about 
him,  so  much  reverence  for  higher  powers  than  hi.s 
own,  that  even  his  childish  vanity  never  led  him 
into  arrogance  or  presumption.  Nothing  he  had 
said  to  her  was  beyond  dispute,  but  it  bore  so  un 
mistakably  the  stamp  of  reality  that  she  tried  it  by 
no  cross-questioning  of  reason.  Her  problem  had 
hung  in  a  nicely  adjusted  balance,  and  a  weight  of 
influence  from  a  higher  region  had  turned  the 
scale.  Mountains  seemed  to  have  rolled  from  her  ; 
she  was  free  to  breathe  and  live ;  and  such  a  life, 
fed  by  such  rarified  air  !  She  caught  her  breath, 
as  she  sat  waiting  for  Stephen  that  night.  She 
was  sure  he  had  read  her  smile,  as  he  passed  while 
she  and  Miss  Phcbe  were  talking,  and  that  he 
would  come.  He  was  early  in  coming,  —  hesitat 
ing  and  afraid  of  his  welcome.  What  had  seemed 
to  be  betokened  by  her  new  look  of  brilliant  joy 
could  scarcely  be  true. 

"Shall  I  come  in?" 

"  Yes."  She  blushed  vividly  as  a  daring  impulse 
prompted  her  to  add,  "  and  never  go  away  again." 
He  stopped  midway,  arrested  by  her  hand.  Since 
the  ring  had  left  it,  he  had  not  once  seen  her  with 
out  involuntarily  wounding  himself  by  letting  his 
eyes  seek  the  naked  white  linger. 


A   VERDICT.  167 

"Sarah,  why  do  you  wear  it?" 

"I  took  it  off;  why  shouldn't  I  put  it  on?" 

"Yes,  but  why  did  you?" 

He  was  not  to  be  put  oft'.  A  coquette  would 
have  found  her  archness  go  down  like  grain  before 
a  mighty  reaper.  Sarah  took  oft'  the  ring  and 
gave  it  to  him. 

"  Do  what  you  please  with  it." 

"I  choose  to  put  it  on  again." 

Accomplished  summarily,  almost  roughly,  he 
looked  at  her  like  a  Hash  to  see  whether  denial 
would  follow.  But  she  was  far  beyond  mischief; 
that  had  been  a  momentary  weakness  to  save  them, 
both  from  tragic  outbreak.  Her  eyes  were  wet 
and  shining,  but  lifted  to  his  most  trustfully. 

"Stephen,  I  have  decided;  it  has  been  decided 
for  me.  We  can  be  happy  !  " 

The  violence  of  his  possession  almost  frightened 
her.  How  could  her  weak  hand  guide  a  love  that 
was  like  a  torrent? 

"Whatever  you  say,  I  shall  never  let  you  go 
again, "he  said,  assuming  a  harshness  which  might 
cover  the  break  in  his  voice.  "  This  has  been  too 
much  ;  a  man  can't  bear  more.  I  never  will  yield 
to  the  trial  again." 

"Oh,  you  will  let  me  make  up  to  you? " 

"  You  have  made  up  everything,  when  you  look 
at  me  with  such  divine  eyes.  When  will  you 
marry  me  ?  " 


168  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

"  Oh,  talk  of  that  to-morrow." 

"  No,  to-night,  to-night !  "  You  have  nobody 
to  consult ;  you  have  no  clothes  to  buy.  I  adore 
this  little  black  dress.  Put  a  red  rose  at  your 
throat  and  come  to  the  wedding." 

"  Stephen,  you  are  wild  !  " 

"  So  I  am,  but  I  will  have  my  way.  After 
wards,  when  you  are  safely  between  my  four  walls, 
you  may  take  your  turn.  Then  I  will  obey  ;  now 
it  is  you  who  must  yield."  Sarah  lifted  her  head 
a  little  proudly.  The  wild-horse  instinct  rose  in 
her,  and  challenged  mastery.  "Love,  forgive 
me,"  he  whispered,  all  gentleness.  "Do  with  me 
as  you  will.  You  know  you  can.  I  am  bound 
hand  and  foot  with  silk,  —  no,  with  this,"  bringing 
forward  a  clinging  lock  of  her  hair. 

When  she  told  what  had  influenced  her,  he 
listened  in  wonder,  but  without  expression  of  it. 
That  a  girl  of  clear  sight  could  be  moved  by 
quackery  was  not  to  be  accounted  for ;  but  he  laid 
the  great  effect  at  the  door  of  her  fine  sensibilities, 
always  liable  to  be  swayed  by  the  figments  of  her 
brain.  Whatever  the  cause  of  her  new  decision, 
he  was  exceedingly  grateful  to  it,  and  by  no  means 
so  curious  as  to  dare  risk  weakening  the  effect  by 
discussion.  Instead,  he  expended  his  efforts  in 
convincing  her  that,  as  a  first  preliminary  of  mar 
riage,  Bernard  must  be  informed  of  their  settled 
relation.  As  they  could  not  well  be  married 


A  VERDICT.  169 

under  the  rose,  other  people  might  as  well  begin 
to  make  up  their  own  minds  to  the  ceremony. 
The  task  was  not  too  easy  of  performance.  Sarah 
had  the  feeling,  of  late,  that  Bernard  scarcely  saw 
her,  or  listened  when  she  spoke.  He  seemed  to 
carry  ubout  some  irritating  wound  which  stung  at 
intervals  too  short  to  serve  as  breathing-spells, 
in  which  his  mind  could  fix  itself  elsewhere. 

"Bernard,  I  want  to  tell  you  something,"  she 
began,  decoying  him  into  the  room  one  night,  with 
hand  and  .smile. 

"I  know  all  about  it,"  said  Bernard,  walking 
back  and  forth.  "You  need  not  have  told  at  all. 
I've  known  it  all  the  time." 

"But  to  have  nobody  to  tell !"  she  said,  the 
tears  coming.  "  To  be  all  alone  and  have  nobody 
glad  !  Bernard,  don't  leave  me  alone." 

"  I  can't  wish  you  happiness ;  I'm  not  good 
enough,"  he  went  on,  rapidly,  hastening  his  steps. 
"  I  don't  wish  you  suffering ;  I  suffer  too  much 
myself.  You  are  going  to  marry  Stephen  Mann  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  hope  you  won't  find  him  vile,  a  wretch  like 
me.  He  may  be.  That's  a  part  of  my  curse ;  I 
ean't  believe  in  anybody." 

"  Bernard,  it  is  not  so  bad  as  that !  You  believe 
in  me,  at  least." 

"  I  suppose  I  do.  It  may  be  foolish  to  do  even 
that.  The  taint  has  come  out  in  me  after  all 


170  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

these  years.  Every  coarse  thing  I  ever  read  or 
heard,  every  wicked  thing,  every  blasting,  dis 
trustful  thing,  has  started  up  in  me.  You  played 
with  me  when  we  were  children  ;  aren't  you  afraid 
of  having  been  contaminated  ?  " 

"  Bernard,  what  have  I  done  ?  What  have  we 
all  done  ?  It  must  be  something ;  we  have  been 
unkind  —  " 

"Nobody  has  been  unkind  but  the  God  who 
made  me,  and  made  me  of  such  clay.  I  can't  for 
give  Him  that." 

"  My  dear,  you  are  childish  and  foolish,"  said 
Sarah,  calm  only  by  an  effort.  "  You  can  esti 
mate  yourself  as  well  as  the  rest  of  us.  Who  that 
I  ever  saw  was  as  bright  as  you?  Who  had  such 
fancies  and  so  much  ambition  ?  " 

"Who,  indeed?  And  who  would  have  lost  am 
bition  so  ?  Everything  noble  in  me  died  down  the 
instant  I  lost  you." 

"Lost  me!  Why,  you  have  me!  I  love  you 
dearly." 

Bernard  bit  his  lip.  He  had  not  meant  to  dis 
close  that  first  grief  which  had  stirred  all  the 

cu 

others  to  light.  He  would  not  be  pitied  for  de 
spised  love. 

"  Well,  lost  your  society ;  lost  the  right  to  be 
with  you.  When  are  you  going  to  marry  him  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know." 


A    VERDICT.  171 

"  You  must  know  something  about  it ;  in  a  year, 
or  a  day  ?  " 

"  In  less  than  a  year.  If  you  knew  how  much  he 
needs  to  be  made  happy !  His  life  has  been  sad." 

"I  don't  want  to  know.  Why  should  I  pity 
him?  Ho  has  eaten  his  bitter  bread,  and  is  ready 
for  his  reward.  Some  of  us  are  in  the  slough, 
still." 

At  any  other  time  his  moods  must  have  filled 
her  with  fear  and  a  deep  anxiety.  That  was  so 
now  in  a  measure,  but  every  emotion  which  did 
not  have  to  do  with  Stephen,  was  seen  through 
haze,  touching  her  sensibilities  but  numbly.  The 
world  can  scarcely  keep  its  just  proportions  in 
eyes  newly  opened  to  the  value  of  the  one. 

It  would  save  the  trouble  of  surmise,  to  tell 
Linora  her  great  fact.  To  her  surprise,  the  tears 
gathered  in  the  girl's  eyes.  They  were  there  very 
often,  but  there  was  a  spontaneity  about  these  which 
bespoke  them  as  uusummoned.  While  Sarah  was 
perplexedly  trying  to  comfort  her,  Stephen  camo 
in,  and  to  him  walked  Linora. 

"She  has  told  me,"  she  said.  "Will  you  let 
her  keep  on  liking  me  ?  " 

Stephen  looked  doubtfully  into  the  appealing 
eyes.  "  Yes,  I  will,"  said  he,  the  doubt  vanishing. 

"  It's  a  promise  !  "said  Linora,  drawing  a  breath 
of  relief.  "  Thank  you.  Then  I  wish  you  both 

joy." 


172  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

"What  does  she  mean,  Stephen?"  asked  Sarah, 
as  Linora  left  them  together.  "  How  could  you 
help  my  liking  her  ?  " 

tr  By  incantations  and  the  black  art." 

"Will  you  tell  me  why  you  were  unkind  to 
Linora,  —  or  were  you  unkind  to  her?  Why  did 
you  drop  her  friendship  ?  " 

"  To  be  plain,  I  didn't  like  her  as  well  on  ac 
quaintance  as  I  did  at  first.  Set  me  down  as 
fickle  and  hard-hearted,  dear,  but  don't  bother 
me  about  her  any  more.  I  haven't  time  for  her  ; 
I  have  to  think  about  my  wedding." 

Sarah  was  forced  to  be  content,  but  there  re 
mained  in  her  heart  some  blame  of  him  which  loy 
alty  forbade  her  acknowledging.  He  had  not  been 
quite  kind  or  unselfish,  said  that  persistent  inner 
critic.  She  was  annoyed  at  herself  from  time 
to  time,  by  detecting  the  lurking  of  a  wish  that  he 
had  been  different. 

As  spring  came  on,  Linora  divulged  a  new  plan. 
According  to  the  advice  of  Professor  Leonard, 
she  had  decided  to  spend  her  summer  at  Coven- 
try. 

"  And  with  your  divine  old  man  and  his  daugh 
ter,"  she  said,  gleefully,  to  Sarah.  "  I  asked  Pro 
fessor  Leonard  if  he  knew  of  any  place  where  I 
could  find  rest  and  quiet,  —  real  country,  you  know. 
It  seems  he  grew  up  in  this  most  idyllic  place, 
where  all  the  people  are  good  and  everything  bios- 


A    VERDICT*.  173 

soms  and  bears.  And  he  thinks  your  old  man 
might  take  me." 

"  Don't  call  him  my  old  man  !  He  looked  like 
a  prophet." 

"  Well,  it  seems  his  name  is  Adams.  The  pro 
fessor  calls  him  '  Pa,'  in  the  most  pastoral  manner, 
varying  it  with  '  Uncle.'  '  Pa '  adopted  him  in  his 
early  youth." 

"  Linora,  how  you  run  on  !  How  much  you 
have  changed  since  I  saw  you  first ! "  Linora's 
face  fell  into  its  most  dove-like  innocence. 

"  If  you  knew  how  I  try  to  be  light  and  gay,  to 
prevent  you  from  getting  tired  of  me  !  " 

"Dear  child,  do  you  think  I  complain?  I  am 
only  surprised  at  finding  you  so  different.  Oh, 
don't  cry,  dear  !  " 

"  So  many  new  blows  to  bear,"  sobbed  Linora, 
throwing  herself  on  the  floor  and  putting  her  head 
in  Sarah's  lap.  "Now,  with  the  prospect  of  a 
beautiful  summer  before  me,  with  these  simple, 
good  people,  I  am  likely  to  be  ordered  anywhere 
else,  perhaps  into  a  whirl  of  gayety,  and  that  I 
dare  not  think  of." 

"  Poor  child !  But  you  have  been  allowed  to 
stay  here  all  winter." 

"  Yes ;  though,  after  any  time  of  peace,  I  am 
always  afraid  of  a  new  calamity.  It  has  always 
been  so." 

Stephen    came    in  —  the    two   were    in    Miss 


174  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

Phebe's  parlor  —  and  critically  surveyed  the  tab 
leau.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  latent  amusement 
in  his  eyes.  Sarah  indignantly  shook  her  head  at 
him,  fearful  of  its  cropping  out  in  a  smile.  His 
total  indifference  to  Linora's  sorrows  annoyed  her 
sorely.  How  could  he  be  so  unfeeling  in  this  case 
alone  ?  Linora  felt  his  presence,  and,  glancing  up, 
rose  at  once,  wiping  her  eyes  with  real  shame. 

"  Is  it  some  new  trouble?  "  asked  Stephen,  lift 
ing  his  brows  rather  quizzically. 

"Linora  is  expecting  bad  news,"  volunteered 
Sarah,  putting  her  arm  round  the  little  shrinking 
figure  and  looking  at  Stephen  defiantly,  as  if  to 
say,  "  Here  am  I !  take  the  other  side  if  you  can." 
Stephen  read  the  look,  and  smiled.  His  valor  was 
discretion,  it  seemed,  for  he  only  said,  quietly,  — 

"  From  your  uncle  ?  I  had  a  letter  from  him 
this  morning ;  he  wTas  quite  well." 

"Why,  you  didn't  tell  me  you  knew  him!" 
cried  Sarah.  Linora's  eyes  implored  him  to  be 
silent. 

"  I  knew  him  at  college,  though  I  was  not  aware 
he  was  related  to  Miss  Gale  until  I  chanced  to 
meet  them  together  in  New  York." 

That  was  all ;  but  after  Linora  had  gone,  as  she 
did  go  speedily,  Sarah  looked  at  him  with  a  keen 
sparkle  in  her  eyes,  saying,  — 

"  Stephen,  you  know  something  about  Linora 
that  you  won't  tell  me." 


A   VERDICT.  175 

"Many  things,"  answered  Stephen,  smiling  at 
her  prim  little  air  of  wisdom. 

"  Anything  I  want  to  know  ?  " 

"  No,  something  you  don't.  You  wouldn't 
choose  to  know  her  secrets  till  she  told  you  ?  " 

"Naturally  not,"  with  reproving  dignity.  "I 
like  Linora;  I  sympathize  with  her,  yes,  deeply, 
Stephen.  You  think  her  sentimental  because  she 
cries  so  often,  but  that  is  only  from  her  being  so 
sensitive.  And  since  she  is  my  friend,  I  don't 
need  to  be  told  anything  about  her." 

"You  purest,  finest  of  souls  !  "  cried  Stephen,  in 
a  transport.  He  admired  her  at  such  odd  times, 
found  her  a  paragon  in  what  seemed  to  her  such 
ordinary  moments,  that  she  had  begun  to  cease 
wondering,  accepting  worship  with  a  pleased  ac 
quiescence,  and  querying,  "  Is  this  a  lover's  manner 
of  thinking?  How  beautiful,  but  how  strange  ! " 


CHAPTER  XII. 

SPRING. 

)  linger  over  spring-time  is  the  temptation  of 
the  story-teller,  as  lingering  in  memory  over 
the  first  days  of  love  is  common  to  the  world. 
But  when  spring-time  and  love-time  come  together, 
who  can  resist  an  attempt  at  his  own  imperfect 
rhyming  of  the  poem  ?  He  has  not  known  spring 
who  has  only  watched  her  advent  in  the  country. 
There  she  is  winged,  and  comes  floating  on  a  thou 
sand  breezes,  bending  for  sweetening  touch  of 
apple-bough  or  violet.  She  cannot  walk,  poor 
princess  ;  the  ways  are  too  muddy.  But  look  for 
her,  you  in  city  streets,  and  you  shall  see  her 
tripping  blithely  into  town,  her  skirts  held  daintily, 
though  her  feet  kiss  the  pavements  without  fear. 
I  would  not  miss  seeing  her  walk  into  town  for 
anything,  not  for  all  her  coquetting  with  springing 
grass  and  swelling  buds.  And  it  is  good  to  catch 
the  first  news  of  her  from  happy  faces,  when  the 
air  softens  and  the  sky  melts,  and  human  hearts 
and  features  are  played  upon  by  the  change. 

The  warmer  months  would  have  brought  a  dear 
delight  to  Sarah,  even  if  she  had  met  them  alone, 
or  herself  in  tears  ;  but  without  her,  Stephen  must 

176 


SPUING.  177 

have  found  himself  jaded  and  dull  in  his  once  keen 
scent  of  beauties.  The  emotional  nature  dies 
quickly  down,  touched  by  blight,  though  in  time 
it  rises  again  to  the  sun's  kiss,  venturing  to  enjoy 
once  more  the  mildest  of  heaven's  breezes.  Stephen 
had  but  now  lived  in  the  intermediate  stage  of 
clinging  to  the  earth  and  declaring  he  dared  accept 
nothing  from  life  beyond  the  commonplace.  He 
had  doubted,  he  grovelled  in  spirit,  he  was  neutral 
of  mind,  only  keeping  himself  from  sin,  but  never 
aspiring  to  heights  beyond  innocence  ;  and  lo  !  in 
the  midst  of  this  half-light,  arose  a  dazzling  sun  of 
love,  —  no  marshy  will-o'-the-wisp,  but  the  god  of 
the  world. 

Slowly  came  back  to  him  the  sense  of  divine 
mystery  that  wraps  the  world  from  the  eyes  of  the 
child  and  the  poet.  He  loved  Sarah  with  a  youth 
ful,  adoring  love,  as  distinct  from  reason  as  if 
reason  hud  given  no  sanction  to  what  his  heart 
declared  of  her.  He  could  not  tolerate  in  her  the 
sense  of  mysterious  sadness  brought  by  the  young 
months.  It  seemed  a  reproach  to  his  exultation. 
There  should  henceforth  be  no  sorrow  in  the  world. 
But  the  more  she  loved  him,  the  more  her  distance 
from  him  widened,  until  her  delicious  reserves  of 
confidence  and  denials  of  love's  rights  pained, 
bewildered,  and  charmed  him  a  dozen  times  a 
day. 

"  Once  you  let  me  pin  your  roses  there  myself," 


178  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

he  said,  jealously.  Sarah  half  turned,  with  the 
daring  coquetry  that  grew  in  her  day  by  day. 

"  That  was  because  I  loved  you  less  than  now." 

"  Oh,  sweetheart,  if  that  were  true  —  "  She 
eluded  his  caress,  and  sparkled  at  him  from  a  dis 
tance. 

"  I  don't  blame  you,"  said  Stephen,  huskily. 
"I  see  what  you  have  to  lose  by  love,  —  your 
freedom,  your  personality,  everything.  And  you 
shall  not  have  a  thought  that  is  not  mine ;  you 
shall  not  look  away  from  me.  I  will  devour  you, 
roses  and  all !  " 

"  So  much  ?  Am  I  to  pay  so  large  a  price  !  " 
with  lifted  brows.  "And  you,  sir;  do  you  go 
free?" 

"  I  have  given  everything,  now,"  said  Stephen, 
humbly.  "  I  am  no  longer  myself.  I  have  no 
self  away  from  you.  Quick  !  see  that  star  sink 
into  the  night." 

After  such  a  passage,  she  was  likely  to  seek  him 
with  downcast  eyes,  asking  him  to  take  back  the 
ring.  Not  for  always,  oh,  no  !  she  would  wear  it 
again,  but  she  must  be  her  own  for  one  day  at 
least.  Then,  when  the  period  of  her  resistance 
had  passed,  she  would  as  timidly  beg  him  to  re 
place  her  fetters.  The  first  time  it,  happened,  he 
was  cruelly  wounded  ;  the  sun  would  never  shine 
again.  But  when  she  had  once  come  back  to  him, 
he  learned  to  bow  to  the  whimsical  shifting  of  her 


SPRING.  179 

moods,  —  and  in  what  full  measure  did  she  thank 
him  for  forbearance  !  In  those  days  he  was  most 
bewildered  by  her  caresses  and  humility ;  it  was 
perhaps  easier  to  bow  to  her  imperious  phases. 

Sarah  had  conceived  a  great  fancy  for  going  with 
Linora  into  the  country.  The  green  fields  drew 
her ;  and  might  they  not  bring  some  healing  to 
Bernard's  diseased  spirit  ?  For  of  course  he  would 
go  with  her. 

"  I  think  he  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said 
Stephen,  deliberately,  when  her  plan  was  broached. 

"  If  anybody  goes  with  you  it  will  be  your 
husband  and  lover.  The  two  offices  are  to  be 
combined." 

"  I  will  have  only  the  lover,"  laughed  the  girl, 
defiantly.  "  But  seriously,  dear,  Bernard,  —  what 
can  we  do  for  him  ?  " 

"I  don't  know.  I  am  anxious  first  to  do  some 
thing  for  myself.  Marry  me  now,  and  in  six 
months  set  me  any  task  you  please." 

As  it  proved,  Linora  was  not  to  go  to  Coventry, 
having,  as  she  said,  been  ordered  to  join  her  uncle 
for  the  summer.  Bernard  also  ceased  to  furnish 
motive  for  delay.  One  morning  he  was  missing, 
leaving  his  trunks  ready  to  be  sent,  with  a  letter 
asking  Sarah  to  take  the  trouble  of  starting  them 
to  New  York  ;  he  would  write  her  from  there  and 
give  her  his  address.  This  was  no  sudden  freak. 
He  had  long  meant  to  go,  and  this  suddenness  of 


180  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

action  did  away  with  the  misery  of  farewells.  He 
did  wish  her  happiness,  if  the  wish  of  such  a  man 
could  do  her  good,  and  Sarah  hugged  that  to  her 
heart  as  some  slight  comfort.  She  was  for  going 
with  the  trunks  and  prevailing  upon  him  to  return, 
but  Stephen  forbade  it,  and  then  reasoned  her  into 
compliance. 

"  He  is  old  enough  to  take  care  of  himself,"  said 
he.  "  Besides,  he  has  acted  neither  like  a  brother 
nor  a  gentleman.  Taking  the  consequences  of  his 
own  freak  will  be  good  for  him." 

There  was  nothing  to  wait  for  now  but  the 
bride's  whims,  and  in  the  temporary  sadness 
brought  on  by  Bernard's  disjointed  course  of  ac 
tion,  she  fell  into  gravity  and  constancy  of  mood. 
In  that  she  was  easily  influenced ;  and  one  June 
morning,  the  two  walked  to  a  little  church  and 
were  married,  going  immediately  away  to  the 
sea. 

They  found  Linora  drenched  in  tears  when  they 
returned  from  the  church.  In  spite  of  Stephen's 
laughing  beyond  the  verge  of  mercy,  she  did  her 
duty  heroically  as  chorus. 

"O  my  dear,"  she  said,  clinging  to  Sarah  as 
they  said  good-by,  "  you  will  not  be  alone :  you 
will  not  be  at  the  mercy  of  every  wind  that 
blows."  And  I—" 

"  Come  right  here,  you  little  lamb,"  said  Miss 
Phcbe,  drawing  her  into  her  own  bony  embrace. 


SPRING.  181 

"  You're  not  the  only  one.  Folks  don't  lose  two 
such  lodgers  every  day." 

So  the  prince  and  the  princess  were  married, 
and  went  away  to  seek  their  fortune  in  a  land 
where  every  one  should  be  happy  ever  after. 

Was  there  ever  before,  thought  Stephen,  a 
woman  for  whom  the  bridal  chest  of  linen  would 
not  have  delayed  the  wedding-day,  or  from  whom 
the  consideration  of  the  house-furnishing  would 
have  provoked  no  question  ?  Sarah  came  to  him 
in  her  simple  gowns,  tied  her  bright  hair  with  a 
little  black  snood,  and  let  the  wind  sweep  it  back 
in  defiant  tangles,  as  freely  as  the  sun  had  leave 
to  burn  in  it.  She  opened  her  eyes  wide  at  the 
jewels  he  brought  her ;  he  had  inherited  his 
mother's  small  magnificence,  and  spent  his  own 
fancy  in  exquisite  devisings  for  his  bride. 

"They  must  cost  a  great  deal  of  money,"  she 
said,  gravely,  at  the  first. 

"  Not  too  much,  sweetheart.     We  can  afford  it." 

"I  must  be  a  prudent  wife,  you  know.  I  must 
not  let  you  ruin  yourself  for  me." 

After  the  assurance,  however,  she  objected  no 
more,  but  worshipped  her  gems  in  lightness  of 
heart.  Years  after,  nay,  as  long  as  he  lived, 
Stephen  never  thought  of  that  bridal  stay  away 
from  the  rest  of  the  world,  without  seeing  one 
picture  struck  out  by  a  throb  of  mental  light.  A 
slender  figure  in  black,  by  a  window  through 


182  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

which  came  the  sound  of  the  monotonous  wash  of 
the  sea ;  all  her  attire  dead  simplicity,  but  her  hair 
a  glory,  and  her  face  a  joy.  In  her  lap  a  glitter 
ing  handful  of  gems  and  gold,  and  she  turning 
and  twisting  a  necklace  in  the  sun,  flushing  at  its 
ilashes  of  light.  She  never  wore  her  jewels  out 
of  her  own  room ;  not  from  that  conventional  idea 
that  gems  are  only  suited  to  magnificence  of  ap 
parel,  but  because  they  were  put  on  solely  for 
her  own  pleasure  in  them.  When  she  must  give 
her  attention  elsewhere  there  was  no  reason  for 
their  being  outside  their  casket. 

"If  I  were  a  prince  of  the  Indies,"  Stephen 
would  say,  watching  her,  as  he  always  watched 
her,  "  I  should  be  able  to  make  you  happy.  When 
I  went  out  you  would  say, '  Bring  me  a  box  of  dia 
monds,  most  worshipful  sir,  and  let  them  be  of 
the  purest  water  and  the  most  marvellous  cut- 
ting." 

"No,  not  that,  but  bring  me  moonstones,  cat's- 
eyes,  opals,  emeralds  for  light,  and  rubies  for 
blood,  and  a  great  yellow  topaz.  Diamonds  are 
for  the  senseless  rich ;  they  ought  to  have  some 
compensation." 

"  Sarah ,  how  lucky  it  is  I  am  not  poor  !  " 

"  No,  no  !  we  could  live,  with  buttercups  for  yel 
low,  and  roses  for  red."  And  she  hid  the  gems 
away,  as  having  done  him  wrong,  and  would  not 
touch  them  again  for  many  a  day. 


SPRING.  183 

When  summer  was  half  done,  he  tried  her  curi 
ously  with  a  question  :  "  Sarah,  where  are  we  going 
to  live  when  we  go  back  ?  " 

"  Why,  at  Miss  Phebe's,  I  thought." 

"  Is  Miss  Phebe's  the  place  for  a  princess  ?  " 

"You  used  to  think  you  saw  one  there,  sir! 
Miss  Phebe's  was  good  enough  for  me  and  good 
enough  for  you  ;  why  isn't  it  good  enough  for  us 
together !  " 

"  Not  for  a  princess  come  into  her  kingdom. 
There  is  a  house  in  town,  not  too  small,  large 
enough  for  breathing-space  and  for  a  wayward 
woman  to  indulge  her  moods  —  " 

"Am  I,  Stephen?  "  creeping  up  to  him,  all  sub 
mission  and  softness. 

"  When  you  gave  me  that  hard  month  of  wait 
ing  last  winter,  it  was  planned,  and  since  then  a 
hundred  Pucks  have  been  girdling  the  earth  to  fur 
nish  it." 

"  Stephen,  in  that  month?  Then  you  were  sure 
I  should  say  yes  ?  " 

"No,  though  I  was  sure  you  must.  I  think  I 
spent  my  time  so,  to  keep  myself  quiet.  Shall 
I  tell  you  how  it  looks?  I  don't  want  you  to 
expect  different  things,  and  be  disappointed." 

"Yes,  please." 

"  I  meant  it  to  be  like  a  great  carven  casket  for 
my  jewel.  There  are  rare  woods  everywhere,  and 
heavy  red  hangings.  Here  and  there  the  glass  is 


184  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

stained ;  I  knew  then,  even,  how  you  fed  on 
color." 

"  Stephen,  it  is  marvellous  !  "  cried  his  wife. 
"  I  love  you,  — but  you  think  of  me,  you  do  for 
me,  — you  serve  Love." 

"  It  is  the  one  god,"  said  Stephen,  reverently. 
"  and  you  are  his  prophet !  You  are  my  best." 

"No,  dear,  don't  believe  that,  or  I  shall  fail 
you." 

"You  can't  fail  me.  Does  it  frighten  you?  I 
don't  wonder.  You  look  up  to  strange  white 
angels  of  ideals  ;  I  look  up  to  you." 

It  was  well  Stephen  had  no  pressing  business, 
and  that  his  place  of  oversight  at  the  factory  could 
be  taken ;  for  that  summer,  in  spite  of  herself, 
Sarah  drew  him  to  forgetfulness  of  action,  as  Enid 
drew  Geraint. 

Yet  he  was  not  to  find  his  rose-garden  lacking 
in  thorns,  —  the  expression  of  an  honest  coquetry, 
which  sprang  so  directly  from  his  wife's  nature 
that  he  could  but  yield  to  it.  He  could  never 
cease  to  think  of  her  for  an  instant,  he  said  and 
believed.  She  was  a  thousand  things  in  one ;  an 
elusive,  submissive,  untamed  creature.  The  gods 
must  have  intended  her  for  the  wife  of  a  fickle 
man. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

A    NEW    DEPARTURE. 

T)ROFESSOR  RIKER  became  afflicted  with  that 
-*-  noble  discontent  which  reproves  a,  man  for 
not  having  done  the  utmost  in  his  chosen  profes 
sion.  Heretofore  he  had  been  satisfied  with  gorg 
ing  himself  to  repletion  on  the  sentimental  side  of 
his  victims.  With  such  a  man,  however,  no  in 
come  remains  sufficient  when  he  once  espies 
heights  of  mammon  beyond.  As  an  inspirational 
lecturer,  his  travelling  expenses  were  always  paid  ; 
beyond  these  he  received  the  proceeds  of  the 
evening,  greater  or  less,  as  it  might  happen.  His 
income  from  private  patronage  was  not  small,  but 
here  he  lost  time  in  travelling. 

"  I  diffuse  myself  too  much,"  said  he,  with  mod 
est  self-estimate.  "  Jack-at-all-trades  is  master  of 
none.  I  will  become  a  specialist."  Therefore  it 
happened  that  he  gave  no  more  lectures,  but  live 
days  in  the  week  received  visits  from  private 
patrons,  devoting  his  remaining  time  to  prepara 
tions  for  a  new  departure.  The  professor  was 
about  to  materialize  the  heavenly  visitants  who 
had  previously  sought  him  as  a  medium  of  verbal 
communication  only. 

185 


186  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

It  was  at  this  point  that  Leonard  became  a  source 
of  exasperation  to  his  master.  Biker  could  not 
say  that  his  pupil  had  belied  his  prophecy ;  in 
spite  of  his  honesty,  Lent  had  proved  a  good  in 
vestment.  But  it  was  when  the  professor  reflected 
on  what  might  be  made  of  him  if  that  transparent 
honesty  were  not  in  the  way,  that  he  was  tempted 
to  wish  he  had  never  seen  the  boy.  Here  were 
shining  qualities,  needing  only  for  their  perfection 
to  become  the  creatures  of  a  master  will.  Had 
Riker  not  recognized  in  Len  such  marvellous  pos 
sibilities  of  duping  by  the  wholesale,  he  could  have 
borne  his  daily  discomfiture  more  calmly.  From 
a  man  of  moderate  endowments,  you  take  what  you 
get  and  are  thankful ;  but  it  goes  to  the  heart  to 
see  exceptional  ability  wasted. 

Still,  in  considering  the  boy's  simplicity  and 
capacity  for  dog-like  attachment,  Riker  caught  a 
gleam  of  hope;  it  seemed  almost  possible  to  lead 
his  pupil  blindfold  into  the  acts  his  stiff-necked 
judgment  would  have  condemned.  His  honesty 
had  never  seemed  to  sleep ;  it  was  pugnacious, 
alert.  If  his  master  counselled  him  to  report  what 
his  strangely  hazy  intellect  refused  to  corrobo 
rate,  he  would  cry  in  acute  regret,  "  But  I  can't !  " 
Now,  though  his  conscience  was  no  less  alert  than 
formerly,  it  was  rapidly  losing  its  power  of  vision. 
He  vyas  confused  between  the  supernatural  and  the 
actual.  Urged  on  by  Hiker's  cloudy  expositions 


A   NEW    DEPARTURE.  187 

of  what  the  spirits  demanded,  impressed  by  the 
certainty  that  Hiker  knew  a  thousand-fold  more 
than  he,  he  followed  devious  ways,  believing  them 
with  all  his  heart  to  be  straight. 

When  Len  was  informed  that  the  spirits  had 
selected  Riker  as  a  medium  through  which  to  ma 
terialize,  he  regarded  his  master  with  an  increased 
reverence.  He  had  been  kept  as  much  as  possible 
from  communication  with  other  members  of  his 
profession,  and  had  never  seen  the  phenomenon  in 
question.  He  could  but  conceive  of  winged  creat 
ures  floating  down  and  about.  Would  there  be 
anything  he  could  do ,  —  and  might  he  help  ?  There 
was  much  he  might  have  done,  had  he  been  capa 
ble  of  becoming  his  master's  actual  confederate. 
As  it  was,  qualified  only  by  obedience,  he  might 
assist  in  a  measure. 

Mrs.  Riker  had  returned,  after  her  vacation 
from  domestic  wrangling,  urged  into  compliance 
by  her  husband's  promises  of  sharing  his  business 
proceeds  with  her,  and  also  by  an  interpolated 
clause  that  if  she  refused  he  might  call  for  her  in 
person.  He  needed  an  assistant,  and  the  wages 
of  the  woman  legally  belonging  to  him  would  be 
only  a  fraction  of  those  demanded  by  one  who 
had  no  part  in  his  lot.  Also,  in  spite  of  her  one 
rebellion,  she  would  be  less  a  partner  than  a  ser- 
vant,  and  that  was  what  he  wished.  Mrs.  Riker 
was  a  woman  of  nerves  rather  than  nerve.  IIuv- 


188  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

ing  more  than  once  felt  the  weight  of  her  husband's 
hand,  she  had  sunk  into  quivering  submission. 
Rebellion —  and  she  had  ventured  upon  it  but  once 
—  had  been  the  result  of  a  sudden,  simultaneous 
jangling  of  the  irritated  nerves,  ringing  the  alarm 
to  an  action  that  frightened  even  herself.  Away 
from  him,  though  she  had  fled  to  a  brother  who 
vowed  he  would  protect  her,  she  could  never  feel 
safe.  The  time  for  settlement  must  come,  how 
ever  long  it  might  be  deferred,  and  when  her 
master  did  at  last  beckon,  she  dared  do  nothing 
less  than  creep  back  to  him. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  Biker  could  dash 
into  this  channel  of  his  profession  without  laborious 
preparation.  That  had  gone  on  for  some  months. 
He  hud  been  long  tending  towards  this  goal,  with 
a  concentration  of  attention,  a  power  of  will  and 
constancy  of  thought  which  put  to  shame  such 
among  us  as  do  slovenly,  intermittent  work.  But 
it  was  not  without  trembling  that  he  ventured  on 
his  first  public  exhibition.  Even  he  was  capable 
of  stage-fright,  though  he  had  the  privilege  of 
choosing  his  audience.  There  were  certain  dis 
ciples  of  his  who  came  often  for  interviews.  The 
most  constant  were  the  most  credulous ;  these  he 
informed,  from  his  trance,  that  the  medium  would 
be  influenced  to  materialize  on  a  specified  night.  As 
the  medium  was  not  accustomed  to  the  work,  and 
it  might  at  first  be  difficult  for  the  influences  to 


A   NEW   DEPARTURE.  189 

make  use  of  him,  the  atmosphere  must  be  har 
monious.  Therefore  the  audience  must  consist 
of  a  chosen  few,  and  the  conditions  imposed  would 
be  rigid. 

Leonard  was  somewhat  hurt  on  finding  himself 
relegated  to  the  position  of  second  assistant,  in 
fuvor  of  Mrs.  Riker,  but  submitted,  as  he  always 
did  when  Riker  cited  the  commands  of  the  in 
fluences.  Riker  and  his  wife  were  to  take  charge 
of  the  cabinet  whence  the  spirits  would  issue, 
while  Leonard  regulated  the  lamp  at  the  back  of 
the  room.  The  condition  of  absolute  obedience 
was  imposed  also  on  him.  If  the  sky  should  fall, 
he  was  not  to  approach  the  cabinet. 

The  little  company  of  ten  arrived  in  the  state 
of  excited  interest  with  which  the  enthusiastic 
theatre-goer  hurries  to  his  place.  Nearly  all  had 
seen  materializing  before,  but  to  witness  it  through 
the  mediumship  of  their  trusted,  their  admired 
professor  —  a  man  of  such  marvellous  gifts  —  was 
a  blessing,  and  as  such  to  be  received.  The  cab 
inet,  a  light  frame  covered  with  cloth,  was  set  up 
before  their  eyes,  and  one  and  another  tested  it, 
«at  Riker's  request.  This  was  apologetically  done, 
their  faith  in  him  being  absolute,  but  he  insisted 
that  the  evidence  of  their  senses  should  be  on  his 
side.  The  parlor  doors,  three  in  number,  were 
locked  by  one  of  the  company,  and  the  key  was 
retained  in  his  own  pocket.  Then  Riker,  at  his 


190  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

own  suggestion,  was  bound  to  a  chair  in  the  cabi 
net,  the  two  men  who  tied  him  affirming  with  self- 
laudatory  smile  that  only  Samson  himself  could 
escape  from  their  bonds.  The  gas  was  turned  off, 
and  Len  had  been  previously  instructed  to  keep 
the  lamp  at  a  faint  glimmer  of  life.  Mrs.  Riker, 
who  stood  beside  the  cabinet,  broke  into  a  droning 
song,  in  which  the  audience  discordantly  joined. 
The  stanzas  had  been  twice  repeated  before  the 
slightest  manifestation  appeared,  and  then  a  hand 
was  waved  from  the  little  window  of  the  cabinet. 
The  song  was  continued,  though  in  tones  hushed 
by  awe.  Leonard  felt  himself  almost  overcome 
by  a  shuddering  wonder.  His  knees  trembled 
beneath  him,  and  he  was  very  near  begging  that 
the  light  might  be  turned  up. 

Suddenly  the  curtain  was  thrown  aside  by  a 
white-robed  figure,  which  remained  visible  in  the 
opening.  The  light  was  too  indistinct  for  disclos 
ing  more  than  its  outline  and  the  ghostly  sheen  of 
its  garments,  but  to  the  honest  senses  it  was  with 
out  doubt  a  figure  of  life  size,  with  human  form 
and  power  of  motion.  It  proved  likewise  to  pos 
sess  the  power  of  speech.  * 

"  Dear  friends,"  came  a  whisper,  —  and  in  that 
twilight  and  silence,  the  tones  were  nothing  if  not 
unearthly,  —  "  dear  friends,  I  have  never  been  able 
to  materialize  before,  though  I  have  tried  ever 
since  I  passed  over.  The  medium  has  a  wonder- 


A   NEW    DEPARTURE.  191 

ful  power  of  helping  us.     I  have  just  entered  the 
second  sphere.    Dear  husband  —  my  strength  is  — 
is  —  failing  —  I  -         It  vanished  into  the  cabinet. 

"  It  was  Jenny  !  "  cried  a  man  among  the  circle. 
f'O  Jenny,  can't  you  say  more?" 

"  She  has  gone  into  the  cabinet  to  get  strength," 
explained  Mrs.  Riker.  Her  face  was  white  and 
set  as  that  of  one  dead.  Evidently  she  was  at  an 
extreme  pitch  of  anxiety  or  interest.  Her  voice 
shook  perceptibly,  and  one  whispered  to  another 
that  Mrs.  Riker  seemed  to  be  "  under  control." 

"  Be  patient,"  came  the  whisper  from  the  cabi 
net.  '"  Sing ;  I  will  appear  again  as  soon  as  I  get 
more  strength." 

The  slow  dirge  of  aspiration  for  the  "  By-and- 
by  "  began  again,  and  again  the  curtain  was  drawn 
aside  to  admit  the  same  figure,  brighter,  more  dis 
tinct,  with  a  glow  about  the  drapery  of  the  head 
that  was  either  celestial  or  phosphorescent.  Then 
the  curtain  was  hastily  swept  together  as  the  hus 
band  seemed  at  the  point  of  rushing  towards  his 
wife's  semblance. 

"  No,  no  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Riker,  holding  him  back 
with  a  trembling  hand,  "you  will  hurt  her.  She 
can't  gather  strength  enough  yet  to  bear  a  touch." 

"I  know  it,"  said  the  man,  retreating  humbly, 
"but  I  couldn't  think.  Won't  she  appear  once 
more  to-night  ?  " 

"Perhaps,"  came  a  whisper  from  the  cabinet; 


192  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

"but  there  are  a  great  many  more  behind  that 
want  to  come,  and  I  am  so  tired." 

Leonard  watched  the  man  who  had  received  the 
manifestation,  with  heart  swelling  in  sympathy. 
Every  day  confirmed  in  him  the  certainty  that 
Kiker  was  a  lover  and  helper  of  his  kind.  This 
was  but  additional  proof. 

An  old  man  appeared  next,  and  even  stepped 
outside  the  cabinet,  making  a  little  speech  in 
Quaker  phraseology.  Then,  with  a  nerve-tingling 
war-whoop,  an  Indian,  with  feathered  crown  and 
floating  hair,  sprang  into  the  very  middle  of  the 
circle,  brandishing  a  tomahawk  and  chattering 
voluble  gibberish.  His  disappearance  was  fol 
lowed  by  the  arrival  of  an  old  lady  in  a  cap,  and  a 
gray  gown  of  some  soft  fabric.  She  could  not 
speak,  "because,"  Mrs.  Hiker  explained,  "the 
medium  was  growing  weaker ;  too  much  strength 
had  been  drawn  from  him." 

In  the  subsequent  interval  of  rest,  the  audience, 
according  to  Mrs.  Hiker's  direction,  strove  to 
calm  the  influences  by  renewed  song,  in  the  midst 
of  which  Hiker's  own  voice,  exhausted  of  all  its 
vitality,  was  heard  asking  that  he  might  be  un 
bound.  The  lights  were  turned  up  and  the  cab 
inet  curtains  thrown  back.  The  professor,  flushed, 
trembling,  was  seated,  bound  to  his  chair  as  he 
had  been  left.  The  committee  of  two  who  had 
bound  him,  declared  the  knots  to  be  intact, 


A   NEW   DEPARTURE.  193 

No  religious  sect  bows  to  its  pastor  more  sub 
missively  than  the  spiritualist  to  his  chosen  leader. 
Kiker  was  a  sort  of  high-priest  among  his  fol 
lowers.  They  crowded  about  him  when  he  was 
released,  with  hand-shakings  and  profuse  congrat 
ulations. 

"How  was  it?"  he  asked,  faintly,  allowing  him 
self  to  be  fanned,  "  Was  it  at  all  satisfactory  ?  " 

After  their  assurances  of  perfect  success,  and  his 
promise  to  give  other  exhibitions  weekly,  they 
took  their  leave,  at  Mrs.  Biker's  anxious  request, 
because,  she  said,  her  husband  could  not  bear  fur 
ther  excitement. 

One  curious  incident  was  connected  with  the 
evening.  At  the  last  appearance,  that  of  the  old 
lady,  some  one  remarked  in  quick  surprise,  "  See, 
she  has  a  seal  ring  on  her  finger ! "  Mrs.  Kiker 
started,  and  possibly  turned  pale,  though  she  had 
before  been  sufficiently  spectral,  and  it  was  im 
mediately  after  that  the  old  lady  disappeared. 
While  the  following  ovation  to  Riker  was  in 
progress,  the  husband  who  had  received  such 
indisputable  proof  of  his  wife's  existence,  began, 
shamefacedly,  but  as  if  constrained,  — 

"Professor,  besides  taking  your  strength,  do 
they  take  anything  else  ?  —  part  of  the  medium's 
form,  or  anything?" 

"  Sometimes,"  said  Riker,  with  bland  readiness. 
"I  believe  it  often  happens  that  they  draw  so 


194  TOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

much  from  the  medium  as  to  resemble  him  in  face 
or  voice.  Was  it  so  to-night  ?  " 

"No,"  hesitated  the  man.  "No,  but  I  could 
have  sworn  that  the  ring  on  the  old  lady's  finger 
was  the  one  you  always  wear." 

Biker  smiled  indulgently,  and  extended  both 
his  hands.  There  was  no  ring  on  any  finger. 

"It  could  hardly  be,  for  I  lost  the  ring  this  very 
day,  and  have  been  worrying  about  it.  It  may  be 
that  the  spirit  wished  to  indicate  to  my  wife  that 
it  would  be  found,  or  my  thinking  so  much  about 
it  may  have  brought  about  an  appearance  of  it  on 
the  spirit's  finger.  Why,  did  any  of  you  see  the 
ring  on  my  finger  when  I  went  into  the  cabinet  ?  " 

Nobody  had  noticed  it. 

"You  did  not  think  I  was  the  spirit  myself, 
when  I  was  tied  in  the  cabinet?"  asked  Riker, 
smiling  heartily. 

"No,"  said  the  questioner.  "I  know  every 
thing  is  above-board,  but  you  see,  Mr.  Biker,  I've 
got  something  at  stake.  It's  a  good  deal  to  me  to 
know  whether  I  saw  my  wife  or  not,  and  I.  don't 
want  to  have  any  little  doubt  picking  at  me  when  I 
go  away.  I  ask  your  pardon,  sir."  Which  Biker 
granted  with  patronizing  affability,  and  the  doubter 
speedily  took  his  leave,  glad  to  escape  the  re 
proachful  glances  of  the  more  devout. 

When  the  hall  door  closed  on  the  last  guest, 
Biker  turned  to  his  wife  in  triumphant  elation ;  but 


A   NEW    DEPARTURE.  195 

she  had  thrown  herself  on  the  sofa,  and  was  sob 
bing  in  hysterics.  At  another  time,  Biker  might 
have  resuscitated  her  with  some  roughness.  To 
night  he  was  too  beamingly  grateful  to  fortune. 

"There,  there,  Julia !"  he  said,  affably,  walk 
ing  up  and  down  the  parlors,  his  hands  in  his 
pockets.  "You've  done  well,  for  you.  You 
shan't  regret  it,  either.  —  Len,  let  the  cabinet 
alone  ! " 

The  tone  was  as  sudden  as  a  pistol-crack.  It 
did  almost  as  effective  execution.  Len  dropped 
the  curtain,  which  he  had  begun  to  remove,  and 
stood  petrified  in  sheer  fright. 

"  There !  don't  look  so  scared,"  said  Riker, 
dropping  into  his  affectionate  manner  of  speech. 
"  I  wanted  to  stop  you  quickly,  that  was  all. 
The  influences  have  just  told  me  that  you  mustn't 
work  a  stroke  to-night,  or  you'll  be  too  tired  for 
your  sittings  to-morrow.  Good- night.  Julia  and 
I  will  take  down  the  cabinet."  , 

Suspicion  had  no  place  in  the  boy's  mind.  Ap 
peased  at  once,  he  obeyed,  and  the  door  was 
locked.  Riker,  his  first  flush  of  triumph  over, 
turned  upon  his  wife  with  an  oath. 

"Now  stop  whining,  and  take  down  the  cab 
inet." 

The  woman  dried  her  eyes,  and  set  about  tho 
task. 

"  It  was  the  ring  that  frightened  me  so ! "  she 


196  FOOLS    OP   NATURE. 

said,  stopping  now  and  again  to  wipe  away  the 
persistent  tears.  "  I  thought  it  would  be  all  over 
then.  What  made  you  think  to  take  it  off?  " 

"  Didn't  I  hear  them  talking  about  it  ?  You 
must  think  me  a  fool.  Now  it  goes  into  my  desk, 
and  nobody  sees  me  wear  it  again  for  one  while. 
No,  see  here  !  "  He  dropped  it  carefully  into  the 
depression  between  the  seat  and  back  of  the  sofa. 
"  Some  fool  will  find  it.  People  are  always  run 
ning  their  fingers  along  there,  when  they  are  talk 
ing.  Mark  my  words,  it'll  be  brought  out  at 
another  meeting  !  "  And  it  was,  as  it  happened, 
by  a  sort  of  poetic  justice,  by  the  very  man  who 
had  questioned  Biker  about  it. 

After  this,  his  success  as  a  spirit-producer  being 
assured,  Biker  bent  his  energies  afresh  towards 
educating  Leonard  according  to  his  own  standard. 
To  enjoy  through  him  u  double  income  was  not 
suflicieiit ;  he  saw  new  ways  of  utilizing  him. 
Moreover,  it  was  becoming  too  great  a  task  to 
keep  up  the  same  system  of  deception  towards  him 
that  must  be  used  for  the  public.  Philanthropic 
motives  had  failed.  He  had  set  forth  to  the  boy 
in  glowing  colors  the  good  he  might  do  by  at 
tempting  more  ambitious  consolation.  Leonard 
recognized  the  possibility,  longed  for  it,  and  almost 
wept  over  his  inability  to  grasp  it. 

He  had  sufficient  vanity  to  be  led  thereby  into 
an  infinite  number  of  deeds,  good  or  bad.  Biker 


A   NEW   DEPARTURE.  197 

worked  now  upon  that  vanity.  He  took  the  boy 
—  it  is  impossible  to  call  him  anything  else, 
though  he  had  now  reached  manhood  —  to  the 
theatre,  to  the  tailor  to  be  measured  for  superfine 
clothes,  and  to  examine  fur  which,  Biker  declared 
with  a  sigh,  would  make  just  the  garment  for 
Len's  princely  figure.  Len  had  a  childish  delight 
in  finery ;  Kiker  fed  it  by  spending  exorbitant 
sums  in  chains  and  rings.  He  took  him  to  drive 
behind  fast  horses,  and  discussed  buying  a  house, 
they  two  together,  to  be  furnished  like  a  palace, 
where  Uncle  Ben  and  Aunt  Maria  might  sometime 
be  persuaded  to  spend  the  winter. 

"Just  think,  if  Miss  Maria  should  pass  over 
into  the  spirit  life,  and  leave  Uncle  Ben  all  alone, 
you'd  have  to  take  care  of  him,"  he  said  one  day, 
as  they  drove  along,  looking,  as  Len  exultantly 
thought,  like  gentlemen  and  millionaires.  "  There'd 
be  nobody  to  keep  house  for  him  then,  you  know, 
and  if  there  was,  he'd  be  lonesome.  Now  if  you 
had  a  house  where  you  could  invite  him  to  spend 
his  old  age  !  " 

"  Oh,  how  I  wish  I  had  !  Do  you  think  it  will 
ever  happen  ?  " 

"If  you  should  work  hard,  there's  nothing  you 
couldn't  do.  What  should  you  to  say  to  a  house 
all  white  marble  ?  " 

"  Like  mantel-pieces  ?  " 

"Yes.     I  tell  you  it  would  cost  a  fortune,  but 


198  FOOLS    OF  NATURE. 

you  could  afford  it,  Lenny,  if  you  tried.  And  a 
pair  of  diamond  ear-rings  for  Aunt  Maria  !  " 

Len's  face  was  all  beaming  delight. 

"  But  you  must  give  way  to  the  influences  more 
than  you  have  done.  When  anybody  comes  for 
comfort,  say  all  you  can." 

"But  I  do!" 

"You  must  put  your  mind  on  it.  Sometimes 
the  spirits  want  help.  It's  just  as  it  is  when  they 
materialize  ;  they  have  to  draw  strength  from  you. 
And  if  you  think  they  want  to  say  something,  you 
must  help  them  say  it.  O  Lenny,  spiritualism  is 
a  wonderful  blessing  to  people  !  " 

Len  listened  respectfully,  but  flicked  the  horse 
with  more  interest.  Sometimes  he  tired  of  this 
monotony  of  topic. 

"And  even,"  went  on  Riker,  feeling  his  way, 
"  even  if  there  was  no  truth  in  it,  it  is  such  a  com 
fort  to  people,  that  I  should  hate  to  give  it  up." 

Len  laughed  at  the  idea  of  holding  to  a  pretence. 

"TeU'emlies?" 

"Tell  some  good,  pious  truth,  and  if  they 
thought  it  came  from  spirits,  why,  so  much  the 
more  good  would  it  do  them  !  Lenny,  we  could 
do  more  good  than  all  the  ministers  put  together, 
even  if  that  was  so." 


CHAPTEE    XIV. 

IN  TOWN. 

T>  ETURNED  to  the  city,  the  friends  of  a  winter 
-*-*'  drifted  at  once  together.  Linora  was  again 
sit  Miss  Phebe's,  and  had  descended  upon  Sarah's 
door-step  like  a  sorrowful  little  thistle-down. 

"  Are  you  happy  ?  "  she  asked  Sarah,  drawing 
back  after  a  light  little  kiss. 

"Naturally,"  answered  Sarah,  laughing.  She 
seemed  to  herself  made  only  for  laughter  now. 
"Are  you?" 

Linora  began  slowly  pulling  off  her  long  gloves, 
her  mouth  quivering  as  she  looked  down  at  them. 
"  You  can  guess.  Look  at  me."  She  was  indeed 
much  worn.  Eloquence  of  mouth  and  nostrils 
emphasized  the  change. 

"  Poor  child  !  Your  summer  has  done  you  no 
good.  Sit  down  and  tell  me  about  it." 

Linora  threw  herself  into  a  chair,  and  stared 
straight  before  her. 

"  I've  begun  to  find  out  that  there  can  be  nothing 
but  misery  before  me,"  she  said.  "  I  have  spent 
the  summer  with  him." 

"Your  uncle?" 

"  Yes  ;  we  have  been  from  one  resort  to  another. 

199 


200  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

I  have  danced  night  after  night ;  he  forced  me  to 
do  it." 

"  I  can't  believe  it  was  necessary  for  you  to  do 
what  you  didn't  choose,"  said  Sarah,  indignantly. 
"  If  you  had  shown  some  spirit,  now  !  Suppose 
you  are  young,  you  are  a  woman.  If  you  resisted, 
he  would  have  to  yield." 

"  Never,"  said  Linora,  with  all  the  quiet  of  a 
sad  conviction.     "You  don't  know  him.     Besides, 
you  forget,  he  can  turn  me  away  to  earn  my  liv 
ing,  and  that  I  cannot  do.     But  there  is  more  — 
worse.     I  have  seem  him." 

"The  priest?"  whispered  Sarah. 

"Yes,  and  he  has  followed  me  here." 

"Why?" 

"  Oh,  he  is  so  troubled  !  He  cannot  forget  me, 
any  more  than  I  can  forget  him.  It  is  wild,  in 
sane  of  him,  but  he  has  come  only  because  I  am 
here." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Sarah,  "  unless  he  has  made 
his  choice  between  you  and  the  Church,  what  can 
this  do  but  harm  ?  " 

A  fortunate  love  had  given  her  a  prophetic 
sense  of  the  shipwreck  which  might  come  of  one 
having  no  right  to  exist.  Linora's  only  answer 
lay  in  tears.  Sarah  was  right ;  only  sorrow  could 
come  of  it  all,  but  they  were  too  weak  to  resist. 

"  He  is  here,  and  I  must  see  him.  It  would  be 
cruel  to  refuse  him  that,"  she  said,  slightly  recov- 


IN  TOWN.  201 

ering  from  her  sobs.  "And  I  have  something 
to  ask  of  you.  If  you  love  me,  do  it ;  go  with  me 
when  I  meet  him." 

"Where?" 

"  We  shall  walk  together  after  dark.  I  am  to 
meet  him  on  Park  Street  to-morrow  night." 

"Impossible,  Linora  1  If  you  are  to  see  him, 
let  him  go  to  Miss  Phebe's." 

M  I  would  gladly,  but  he  is  so  sensitive,  so  mor 
bidly  sensitive,  so  afraid  of  being  detected  and 
disgraced ! " 

Sarah  began  to  be  confirmed  in  her  former 
opinion  of  the  young  man.  "Linora,"  she  said, 
after  a  moment's  thought,  "  spend  the  night  with 
me,  and  let  him  call  on  you  here.  You  ought 
not  to  meet ;  if  you  must  and  will,  this  will  be 
best." 

"You  are  so  kind!  and  if  he  consents,  it  will 
take  a  terrible  load  off  my  heart.  These  secret, 
dark  ways  fill  me  with  horror.  Dear,  you  are  so 
good  to  me  !  " 

So  she  took  her  leave,  specifying  that  Stephen 
should  not  know  ;  all  her  confidences  must  be  kept 
from  him.  Sarah  agreed,  after  a  little  remon 
strance.  It  seemed  to  her  that  no  one  could  help 
as  much  as  Stephen  ;  she  privately  thought  that  it 
might  do  good  to  this  young  priest  of  tortuous 
ways,  to  make  Stephen's  acquaintance.  But  she 
also  reflected  that  she  herself  should  scarcely  care 


202  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

to  confide  in  a  friend's  husband  merely  because 
she  might  wish  to  confide  in  the  friend. 

The  next  day,  instead  of  Linora,  came  a  sor 
rowful  little  note  saying  he  had  refused.  More 
than  that,  his  conscience  was  again  roused,  and 
he  had  vowed  not  to  see  her  at  all.  She  could  bear 
anything  better  than  this  ;  even  a  final  renunciation 
would  be  preferable  to  uncertainty.  Sarah  went 
to  Miss  Phebe's  without  delay,  asking  that  lady, 
who  opened  the  door,  how  Linora  seemed  to 
be.  Miss  Phebe  regarded  her  with  stony  benevo 
lence. 

"  I'm  not  a  mite  sorry  I  lost  you,"  she  said. 
"You've  found  better  quarters  than  mine.  Lin 
ora  !  Poor  little  soul !  Up  and  down,  here  and 
there  !  I'll  see  if  she's  ready  for  you." 

It  was  along  time  before  Linora  answered,  and 
longer  still  before  Miss  Phebe  was  informed  by 
the  little  maid  that  she  would  see  Mrs.  Mann. 
Meanwhile  Miss  Phebe  had  sat  tenderly  recount 
ing  the  girl's  last  mental  symptoms. 

Sarah  found  her  sunken  among  billows  of  cush 
ions,  her  face  pale,  her  hands  folded. 

"  You  wonder  at  not  seeing  me  more  overcome," 
she  said,  with  her  piteous  smile.  "  I  have  done 
crying.  I  can  shed  no  more  tears." 

Sarah  silently  stroked  her  hair,  and  then  ven 
tured  to  say,  — 

"  But  isn't  it  better  as  it  is,  my  dear?    It  seems 


IN   TOWN.  203 

to  me  wise  and  conscientious  of  him  to  refuse  to 
see  you,  if  he  has  chosen  the  Church." 

"  I  shall  come  to  you  to-night,"  said  Linora, 
restlessly.  "I  am  all  unstrung;  you  will  rest 
me." 

Stephen  found  her  there  when  he  went  home  to 
dinner.  Linora  amused  him,  though  he  had  his 
own  private  reasons  for  not  subscribing  to  her. 
As  to  that,  however,  he  could  afford  to  show  her 
more  cordiality  than  formerly,  because  his  own 
heaven  had  grown  so  bright  as  to  shed  its  friendly 
radiance  over  everybody.  That  evening  it  hap 
pened,  as  it  inevitably  must,  with  Linora  in  the 
room,  that  the  conversation  drifted  to  spiritualism. 
Linora  had  some  excellent  "  tests  "  to  report.  In 
her  wanderings,  she  seemed  able  to  find  every 
where  mediums  for  the  transmission  of  spiritual 
messages. 

"  The  best  society  is  open  to  you  ;  why  do  you 
go  into  this  sort  of  limbo  ?  "  asked  Stephen,  lazily 
regarding  her. 

"  Think  of  investigating  such  a  thing  ! "  cried 
Linora,  her  little  hands  fluttering  in  dramatic  com 
mentary.  "Think  of  establishing  immortality  ! " 

Stephen  laughed,  but  his  wife  looked  grave. 
When  they  were  alone  that  night,  she  touched  on 
the  subject  again,  though  with  hesitation. 

"  Stephen,  you  used  to  doubt  immortality." 

"  I  doubt  nothing  now,"'  said  he  with  smiling 


204  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

fondness.  "I  believe  whatever  you  tell  me  to 
believe." 

Sarah  knitted  her  brows. 

"  Dear,  I  am  in  earnest." 

"  So  am  I.     Deeper  than  that ;  I  am  in  love." 

"  You  laughed  at  Linora.  Are  you  sure  spirits 
cannot  appear,  or  cannot  communicate  with  us  ?  " 

"  Quite,  if  you  force  me  to  say  it.  It  is  a  phys 
ical  impossibility." 

"Stephen,  if  you  were  convinced  that  they 
could,  wouldn't  it  prove  immortality  to  you  ?  " 

"Undoubtedly.  If  the  dead  can  speak,  they 
exist." 

"  Should  you  object  to  investigating  it  with  me, 
if  I  wanted  it  very  much  ?  I  don't  know  that  I 
do  want  it,  but  suppose  I  should?" 

Stephen  hesitated. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said  finally.  "I  suppose  I 
could  be  brought  to  it,  but  I  should  be  exceeding 
loath.  I  should  be  sorry  to  take  you  into  such 
villanous  company." 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  his  wife's  tongue  to  remind 
him  of  the  spiritual  old  man  she  had  seen  at  Leon 
ard's,  but  she  checked  herself.  For  some  reason 
she  felt  disinclined  to  run  the  risk  of  dimming  the 
halo  about  her  own  experience  there,  by  making 
it  the  subject  of  conversation.  Stephen  went  on. 

"You  don't  know  as  much  as  I  do  about  the 
people  who  engage  in  that  sort  of  thing.  Hun- 


IN   TOWN.  205 

dreds  of  fine,  sensitive  natures  are  misled  by  it, 
but  the  mediums  themselves  are  simply  vile.  Do 
you  want  to  see  a  man  through  whom  Shakspeare 
recites  doggerel  purporting  to  be  original  ?  " 

"All  mediums  may  not  be  alike,"  ventured 
Sarah. 

"No,  but  when  you  find  an  educated  man  of 
known  integrity,  who  offers  himself  as  a  medium, 
I'll  visit  him  with  pleasure." 

It  was  inevitable  that  Sarah's  own  experience 
should  have  lingered  in  her  mind,  asserting  from 
time  to  time  its  right  to  be  heard.  And  as  she 
refrained  from  speaking  of  it,  she  protected  it  even 
from  her  own  thought.  But  the  subject  in  general 
attracted  her  craftily.  It  might  be  possible,  she 
argued ;  spiritualism  might  be  the  great  coming 
revelation.  For  the  world  is  not  at  a  standstill, 
as  priests  would  have  us  believe.  A  faith  not  yet 
established  need  not  of  necessity  be  false.  That 
the  formless  embryo  is  destitute  of  grace  in  the 
artistic  eye,  furnishes  no  proof  that  a  Venus  may 
not  expand  from  the  lump. 

"Men  laughed  at  Galileo,  and  Newton,  and 
Stevenson,"  she  said  to  herself,  again  and  again, 
"yet  they  were  right." 

Linora  was  often  with  her,  and  when  her  per 
sonal  griefs  were  not  the  subject  of  conversation, 
this  one  topic  held  the  floor.  One  evening,  as 
the  three  sat  together,  without  announcement,  in 


206  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

walked  Bernard.  Haggard,  care-ridden,  he  seemed 
ten  years  older  than  the  Bernard  they  remem 
bered.  All  her  past  love  for  him,  mingled  with 
present  grief,  surprised  Sarah  into  a  show  of  ten 
derness  unusual  in  her.  She  gave  him  both  her 
hands,  and  when  she  lifted  her  face,  Bernard  saw 
that  she  was  crying.  A  sword  welded  of  opposite 
emotions  pierced  him.  Her  gladness  at  renewing 
old  associations  scarcely  argued  well  for  the  pres 
ent.  Stephen  must  be  neglectful  of  her,  and  he 
was  angry  and  exultant  in  a  breath.  Stephen, 
seeing  his  wife  so  moved,  was  gently  kind  in  his 
own  greeting.  Sometimes  his  manner  towards 
Bernard  was  half  ironical.  An  unrestrained  dis 
play  of  the  poetic  temperament  struck  him  as 
something  ridiculous.  Bernard  was  too  suggestive 
of  tragedy  in  every-day  life  ;  he  seemed  ill-adapted 
to  anything  outside  Wagnerian  opera. 

"  Did  you  come  to-night,  Bernard  ? "  asked 
Sarah,  hovering  about  him.  "Do  tell  me  it  was, 
so  that  I  may  be  sure  you  came  straight  to  us." 

"Yes,  it  was  to-night,"  said  Bernard. 

"And  you  will  make  your  stay  with  us,  I  hope," 
said  Stephen,  courteously. 

"  No,  thank  you.  I  am  at  Miss  Phebe's."  Here 
Linora  broke  in  for  the  first  time,  with  a  fervor 
which  drew  Bernard's  eyes  suspiciously  upon  her. 

"  How  glad  I  am !  Do  you  know,  I  am  still 
there,  Mr.  Ellis,  and  your  coming  will  bring  a  bit 


IN    TOWN.  207 

of  dear  last  winter  back  again.  We  must  help 
each  other  in  our  loneliness  !  " 

Bernard  murmured  something  unintelligible, 
turning  of  a  brick-red.  Stephen  regarded  Linora 
quizzically,  and  Sarah  again  wondered  what  he 
could  possibly  know  to  the  girl's  prejudice.  Con 
versation  flagged,  as  it  has  a  way  of  doing  when 
its  participants  are  thus  at  cross-purposes,  and 
Bernard  soon  rose  to  take  his  leave,  promising  to 
return  the  next  day  to  be  catechised. 

"And  am  I  going,  too,  Mr.  Ellis,"  said  Linora, 
rising  also,  and  looking  up  through  her  lashes. 
"The  same  way,  to  the  same  house.  What  does 
that  imply?"  Bernard  rather  awkwardly  stated 
that  he  should  be  grateful  for  her  company,  and 
the  two  set  off  together,  —  Stephen  smiling  after 
them,  and  informing  his  wife  that  the  girl  was 
better  than  any  comedy. 

Once  outside,  Linora  alluded  to  the  beauty  of 
the  night  and  the  probable  closeness  of  the  horse- 
cars.  Bernard  consequently  inquired  if  she  pre 
ferred  walking,  and  Linora  did  prefer  it.  Her 
manner  towards  him  was  wonderfully  softened, 
Bernard  thought.  Could  he  possibly  have  been 
mistaken  in  thinking  she  ridiculed  him?  Linora 
led  him  on  with  gentle  interest  to  speak  of  himself. 
He  had  been  in  New  York,  he  told  her,  through 
the  hot  summer  months,  trying  in  vain  to  get 
work  as  a  journalist.  He  had  served  no  appren- 


208  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

ticeship,  and  nobody  wanted  him.  And  yet  he 
must  find  work  to  do  ;  it  was  absolutely  necessary 
that  he  should  earn  money.  Here,  however,  he 
checked  himself,  and  would  speak  no  more  of  his 
own  affairs.  He  catechised  Linora  in  her  turn, 
with  a  suppressed  eagerness  which  she  set  down 
as  fondness  for  his  sister.  Did  she  think  Sarah 
was  happy?  Yes,  Linora  was  sure  of  it.  After 
that  Bernard  seemed  to  withdraw  within  herself, 
wrapped  about  with  his  own  musings. 

He  had  come  back,  as  he  doggedly  acknow 
ledged  to  himself,  to  be  near  Sarah.  Perhaps  his 
homesick  loneliness  through  those  hot  months  in  a 
strange  city  had  made  him  exaggerate  his  fondness 
for  the  one  creature  in  the  world  who  was  dear 
to  him ;  and  the  more  irresistible  his  longing  to 
see  her  face,  the  more  harshly  did  his  perverse 
spirit  set  it  down  as  springing  from  the  devilish 
side  of  his  nature.  He  was  most  evidently  in  love 
with  her.  No  man  but  one  tainted,  like  himself, 
with  hereditary  disposition  towards  the  base  would 
boldly  acknowledge  such  a  thing  and  tolerate  it 
a  day  after.  Taunting  himself  thus,  driven  be 
yond  endurance  by  his  own  flagellations,  he  turned 
upon  himself  one  day,  declaring,  "  I  might  as  well 
commit  base  deeds  as  plan  them.  I  long  to  see 
her ;  the  sight  can  be  no  worse  than  the  longing. 
I  will  go  !  "  Therefore  he  was  here,  not  abandon 
ing  his  purpose  of  finding  work,  but  relinquishing 


IN    TOWN.  209 

it  for  the  present.  He  had  been  living  with  all 
possible  frugality,  because  it  had  seemed  to  him  of 
late  impossible  to  use  the  money  given  him  by  his 
adopted  mother.  She  had  not  known  him,  he 
said  bitterly.  If  she  could  have  understood  the 
vile  nature  of  the  creature  she  took  to  her  heart, 
she  would  have  shuddered  and  cast  him  from  her. 
In  common  honesty,  the  least  he  could  do  towards 
preserving  his  self-esteem  was  to  earn  his  own 
bread,  and  render  up  his  ill-gotten  legacy  to 
Sarah. 

Next  day  he  went  to  Sarah  while  her  husband 
was  sure  to  be  out.  She  was  waiting  for  him  at 
the  window,  her  bright  hair  and  white  hands  points 
of  brightness  and  beauty  against  her  black  dress. 
He  forgot  to  taunt  himself  by  declaring  to  his  re 
sisting  heart  that  he  loved  her.  He  could  only 
think,  with  a  dull  pain  in  recognizing  his  distance 
from  her,  that  she  was  not  only  fair,  but  pure 
as  a  statue.  She  smote  his  eyes  as  the  bliss 
of  heaven  is  said  to  pierce  the  heart  of  the  sin 
ner. 

"Your  dress  is  the  same,"  he  said,  slowly,  after 
she  had  seated  him  and  was  fluttering  about  like 
a  radiant  butterfly.  "The  same  black  clothes.. 
But  your  face  is  like  the  sun  ;  it  never  used  to  be 
so." 

Sarah  seated  herself  opposite,  folding  her  hands 
in  her  lap.  A  laugh  and  blush  came  together. 


210  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

"I  put  on  the  black  dress  for  you,"  she  said. 
"I  wanted  to  be  the  same.  I  wanted  you  to  see 
I  had  not  changed." 

There  was  such  candor  in  this  assurance  of  the 
constancy  of  her  love,  that  he  felt  the  tears  strike 
a  hot  flash  into  his  eyes.  Contrasted  with  his 
sickly  fancies,  her  affection  fell  like  pure  sunlight 
after  the  blackness  of  underground  passages.  He 
bent  forward  to  kiss  her  hand,  and  Sarah  gave 
his  head  a  reassuring  little  touch  with  the  other 
palm. 

"You  say  I  have  changed,"  she  went  on.  "You 
see  it  in  my  face?  So  do  I.  Do  you  know,  a 
girl  is  only  half  alive  ;  she  begins  to  live  when  she 
becomes  a  woman." 

Bernard  was  leaning  back,  regarding  her  blindly. 
It  had  been  more  unsafe  to  come  than  he  had 
thought.  She  dazzled  him,  and,  he  stopped  to 
think,  not  from  his  worship  of  her.  She  would 
have  dazzled  any  one. 

"  I  am  so  happy,  you  see ! "  went  on  Sarah, 
rapidly.  "  See  this,  all  this  he  has  placed  me  in," 
indicating  with  a  sweep  of  her  hands  the  room 
about  her,  —  a  soft,  deep  wonder  of  color. 

"  So  you  worship  your  household  gods  ?  "  said 
Bernard.  Sarah  looked  at  him  gravely ;  he  met 
her  glance,  and  hated  his  own  flippancy. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  simply.  "They  are  symbols 
of  the  whole." 


IN  TOWN.  211 

She  was  giving  him  a  great  deal,  he  realized,  in 
admitting  him  to  her  sacred  inner  confidence.  He 
must  lose  it  if  he  received  it  lightly.  Therefore  he 
tried  to  regain  his  ground. 

"You  must  forgive  me,  Sarah;  I  am  tired. 
The  hot  summer  has  been  too  much  for  me. 
Tell  me  more  about  yourself,  and  let  me  snarl  if 
J  like,  but  don't  punish  me  as  I  deserve." 

She  was  ready  to  prove  her  quick  forgive 
ness. 

"  I'll  tell  you  anything  to  show  you  how  happy 
I  am ;  but  it  won't  come  all  at  once,  without  ques 
tioning.  Stay,  —  yes,  I  can  prove  it  without  many 
words.  Bernard,  when  I'm  not  putting  on  a  black 
dress  to  please  you,  I  wear  deep  reds  and  amber, 
in  velvet  and  soft  cashmere.  I  put  jewels  on  my 
wrists.  I  hear  wonderful  music,  and  I  dream  at 
night  that  I  can  sing  in  a  wonderful  soprano.  Am 
I  happy  ?  "  Bernard  almost  groaned.  She  seemed 
ages  distant,  in  a  radiant  heaven  all  her  own. 
Her  changes  were  like  a  bird's  darting  from  bough 
to  ground.  "  And  now  about  your  summer  ?  "  she 
said,  quietly.  "  Tell  me  it  all ;  —  why  you  went, 
why  it  was  so  sudden  and  secret,  and  what  you 
did  when  you  were  there." 

He  gave  her  the  briefest  facts,  laying  the  eccen 
tricity  of  the  proceeding  on  the  shoulders  of  his 
known  moodiness  of  nature.  It  seemed  perfectly 
reasonable  to  Sarah  that  he  should  care  for  work  ; 


212  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

she  was  sure  she  could  not  be  content,  if  she  were 
a  man,  without  some  stated  business.  Stephen 
might  prove  of  practical  use  to  her  brother,  and 
she  privately  resolved  to  speak  to  him  on  the 
subject. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

LINORA. 

TT  grew  into  a  habit  for  Bernard  to  spend  much 
-•-  of  his  time  with  Sarah,  and  as  Linora  was 
often  there,  it  gradually  fell  out  that  the  two  came 
and  went  together.  Bernard  slowly,  suspiciously, 
recovered  from  his  fear  of  Linora.  How  could  it 
be  otherwise,  when  she  one  night  threw  aside  her 
reserve  and  frankly  confided  in  him,  as  she  had  in 
others?  He  listened  with  painful  sympathy;  he, 
too,  knew  the  suffering  involved  in  hopeless  love. 
Again  the  priest  had  returned  to  the  city,  because 
he  was  unable  to  remain  away. 

"  We  must  meet ! "  cried  Linora,  almost  wring 
ing  her  hands.  "And  yet,  how  can  it  be  done,  in 
the  very  face  of  propriety?  Sarah  will  not  go 
with  me,  and  how  can  I  alone  keep  a  clandestine 
appointment,  even  with  him?" 

"  Miss  Phebe,"  suggested  Bernard. 

"  I  couldn't  ask  her  !  She  is  so  literal,  so  sure 
everything  can  be  settled  by  the  card  !  She  would 
charge  him  with  having  been  unkind  to  me." 

"  If  I  could  be  of  any  use  —  "  Bernard  hesitated. 
Linora  clasped  his  arm  with  both  her  hands,  her 
tearful  eyes  raised  to  his. 

m 


214  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

"  Do  you  mean  you  would  really  take  me  to  the 
place,  wait  with  me,  walk  behind  us  while  we 
talked,  and  take  me  home  again?" 

"  That,  or  more,"  said  Bernard,  smiling.  "  Any 
thing." 

Linora  made  an  appointment  for  seven  o'clock, 
and  at  the  hour  Bernard  found  her  waiting  for 
him  outside  her  door.  She  was  dressed  in  black, 
and  closely  veiled.  The  general  funereal  look  of 
the  little  figure  inspired  him  with  an  additional 
pity.  She  did  not  speak  on  their  way  to  the  tryst- 
ing  place,  a  lonely  street  of  unused  building  lots. 
When  they  neared  the  spot  she  whispered  excit 
edly,  — 

"  Do  you  see  him  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Bernard,  straining  his  eyes,  "there 
is  no  one  there." 

"Walk!  walk!  "said  Linora,  eagerly,  tighten 
ing  her  grasp  on  his  arm.  "Let  us  use  up  the 
time  till  he  conies." 

They  hurried  back  and  forth,  Bernard  awk 
wardly  adapting  his  steps  to  her  uneven  ones. 
Sometimes  he  fancied  a  suppressed  sob  shook  her 
frame.  So  a  half  hour  passed,  varied  only  by  an 
occasional  meeting  with  some  pedestrian ,  at  whom 
Bernard  would  stare  with  sickening  suspense,  till 
he  was  proven  beyond  a  doubt  to  be  no  errant 
priest.  He  was  so  sorry  for  the  little  creature, 
that  the  torture  of  waiting  fastened  itself  also 


LIN  OK  A.  215 

upon  him.  Finally ,  Linora  threw  back  her  veil  and 
looked  at  him  with  a  despairing  face. 

"He  will  not  come,  my  friend  !  "  she  said,  in  a 
dull  voice.  "  Let  us  go  home." 

They  went  back  again  in  silence.  Linora  had 
veiled  her  face,  as  before,  and,  as  before,  Bernard 
caught  the  sound  of  her  sobs.  When  they  had 
nearly  reached  the  house,  she  broke  out,  to  his 
horror  and  surprise,  into  an  uncontrollable  fit  of 
laughter. 

"You  must  forgive  me  !  "  she  said,  chokingly, 
as  soon  as  she  could  muster  voice.  "  Have  pa 
tience.  This  is  my  way  of  weeping.  Other  women 
cry  ;  I  have  hysterics."  She  laughed  on  and  on, 
until  Bernard  was  in  despair,  and  chiefly  anxious 
at  last  to  get  her  safely  into  her  own  room  before 
she  fainted  or  died  ;  he  was  prepared  for  anything. 

Once  there,  she  insisted  on  being  left  alone,  and 
also  that  he  should  not  call  Miss  Phebe.  Bernard, 
too  distressed  to  leave  her  entirely,  sat  on  the 
stairs  near  her  door,  and  from  that  post  heard  her 
laughing  at  intervals  for  half  an  hour.  The  next 
morning  she  was  perhaps  more  quietly  sad  than 
usual.  When  Bernard  ventured  to  speak  to  her, — 

"  It  is  all  over,  my  friend,"  she  said,  with  a  weary 
smile.  "He  can  be  unkind  to  me.  He  does  not 
love  me  as  I  thought,  if  he  can  let  me  suffer  what 
I  did  last  night.  Don't  tell  Sarah ;  and  forget  it, 
as  I  shall.  I  have  given  him  up." 


216  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

After  this,  a  further  intimacy  could  hardly  help 
following.  It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that,  on 
one  of  their  walks,  Bernard  was  led  into  speaking 
of  his  own  mental  troubles ;  not  of  his  love  for 
Sarah,  or  the  sore  topic  of  his  birth,  but  the  fact 
that  he  was  haunted  by  thoughts  too  vile  to  be 
claimed  as  his  own.  He  was  not  altogether  actu 
ated  by  desire  of  sympathy.  A  disclosure  of  his 
true  nature,  as  he  believed  it  to  be,  seemed  neces 
sary  in  common  honesty.  She  had  trusted  him  ; 
she  must  be  told  that  he  was  unfit  for  trust,  that 
he  had  a  second  self  which  scoffed  at  virtue  and 
laughed  at  profanation.  Linora  listened  with  bird- 
like  attention,  her  head  on  one  side,  eying  him  as 
if  he  were  indeed  a  rare  specimen. 

"You  mean,  in  short,  that  you  think  wicked 
thoughts  ?  "  she  said,  as  soon  as  he  had  finished. 

"It  isn't  that  I  think  wicked  thoughts,"  burst 
out  Bernard.  "  It  is  that  I  am  naturally  bad, 
coarse.  I  have  a  surface  polish  which  misleads 
you  ;  that  is  education,  intercourse  with  respectable 
people.  If  I  had  been  let  alone  for  the  untrained 
Adam  to  develop  in  me,  I  should  have  been  a  thief; 
not  a  murderer,  —  I'm  too  base  for  courage." 

"My  friend,"  said  Linora,  impressively,  "you 
must  go  to  Professor  Leonard."  Thereupon  she 
descanted  upon  Professor  Leonard,  and  the  skill 
with  which  he  ministered  to  the  sorrowful. 

Bernard  had  never  been  called  on  to  form  a  very 


LINORA.  217 

positive  opinion  on  the  subject  of  spiritualism. 
He  regarded  it,  in  a  general  way,  as  rude  quack 
ery  ;  after  Linora's  preface  he  was  open  to  convic 
tion.  No  one  could  be  more  easily  captivated  by 
the  strange  in  psychology.  The  next  morning 
found  him  inquiring  for  Professor  Leonard.  As 
it  happened,  Leonard  was  so  ill  with  headache  that 
Hiker,  kindly  inexorable  master  as  he  was,  had 
been  obliged  to  excuse  him  from  the  office.  At 
some  inconvenience  to  himself,  since  there  were 
preparations  to  be  made  for  materialization  that 
evening,  Hiker  took  his  place. 

When  Bernard  was  shown  in,  Biker  met  him 
with  an  effusive  apology  for  Professor  Leonard's 
absence.  Might  he  do  his  best  to  act  instead? 
Bernard  saw  no  reason  to  the  contrary,  and  Riker 
accordingly  went*  through  the  preliminaries  of 
seating  him,  taking  his  own  place,  and  going  into 
a  trance.  The  first  result  was  a  very  clever  anal 
ysis  of  Bernard's  own  character,  independent,  how 
ever,  of  the  late  conclusions  Bernard  had  himself 
drawn.  He  listened,  quite  unconscious  that  he 
was  now  and  then  helping  along  the  disquisition 
by  volunteering  confirmation  or  disapproval. 
Riker  made  some  telling  hits,  and  Bernard,  in  his 
interest,  became  more  and  more  involved.  Not 
at  all  to  his  surprise,  since  it  came  about  so  grad 
ually,  he  was  soon  describing  his  mental  troubles 
and  asking  for  advice. 


218  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

"  We  are  glad  you  came  to  us,"  said  Riker,  after 
keen  listening.  "  We  have  been  wanting  to  help 
you  for  a  long  time.  Do  you  know  there  is  a  shin 
ing  throng  waiting  to  see  you?  They  are  your 
own  relatives ;  some  of  them  have  been  years  in 
the  spirit  land.  Mary,  Aunt  Mary,  is  here." 

How  could  Bernard  accept  or  deny?  He 
thought  with  shame  that  he  might  be  presented  to 
generations  of  ancestors  of  whose  very  names  he 
was  ignorant. 

"  One  —  I  think  she  passed  over  when  she  was 
very  young  —  "  Riker  went  on.  "  May  be  an  aunt 
or  a  cousin,  —  a  sister  even.  She  seems  to  know 
all  about  your  condition ;  she  tells  me  what  it  is, 
and  what  you  must  do.  Did  you  ever  know  a 
tall,  stooping,  broad-shouldered  man  with  a  heavy 
face?  He  has  thick  black  eyebrows  and  cruel 
little  eyes.  He  wears  a  great  coat  with  a  cape, 
and  a  queer  little  cap.  Did  you  ever  know  him? " 

Bernard  considered,  and  then  said,  "  No." 

"  How  could  you  ?  "  said  Riker,  with  an  apolo 
getic  laugh.  "  She,  the  bright  spirit,  tells  me  he 
lived  a  hundred  years  ago.  He  was  a  great  stu 
dent.  She  seems  to  tell  me  he  lived  in  some  for 
eign  country." 

"  What  have  I  to  do  with  him?  "  asked  Bernard. 

"  She  shakes  her  head  and  smiles.  There  are 
some  things  they  are  not  allowed  to  tell.  She 
says  he  haunts  you  ;  he  whispers  those  things  into 


LINORA.  219 

your  cars.  You  believe  you  think  them  yourself, 
but  you  don't." 

"  What  can  I  do  to  get  rid  of  him? " 

"  Put  yourself  under  better  conditions.  The 
best  way  to  keep  off  bad  spirits  is  to  put  yourself 
under  the  influence  of  good  ones.  There  are 
many  beautiful  spirits  ready  at  any  time  to  talk 
with  you.  Go  where  they  can  have  a  chance  to 
do  it,  and  the  black  student  will  find  he  has  lost 
his  hold  on  you." 

This  was  followed  by  much  more  to  the  same 
purpose,  together  with  a  very  positive  declaration 
that  Bernard  was  "  mediumistic,"  and  might  be 
easily  developed  if  he  chose  ;  a  compliment  usually 
paid  by  mediums  to  whomsoever  they  chance  to 
address. 

It  would  have  been  hard  for  Bernard  to  formu 
late  his  impressions.  Indeed,  it  was,  when  Linora 
demanded  them.  He  was,  of  all  people,  one  of 
the  most  credulous.  It  was  by  no  means  neces 
sary  to  demonstrate  that  two  plus  two  equal  four, 
to  insure  his  acceptance  of  the  fact.  Two  results 
certainly  followed  the  visit,  —  he  was  aroused  to 
a  vivid  interest  in  spiritualism,  and  he  found  him 
self  haunted  by  a  visual  image  of  the  man  Riker 
had  described.  His  sensitive  condition,  acted  upon 
by  the  vividness  of  his  imagination,  readily  brought 
that  about.  If  he  went  into  a  room,  the  malicious 
student  was  likely  to  confront  him.  If  he  took  a 


220  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

chair,  the  chances  were  that  the  image  was  already 
in  possession  of  it.  It  was,  he  told  himself, 
merely  a  freak  of  the  imagination,  but  it  was,  nev 
ertheless,  productive  of  decided  discomfort. 

Gradually  Linora  drew  him  into  her  own  fervor 
of  zeal  as  to  investigation ,  and  the  two  consulted 
clairvoyants  and  mediums,  growing  more  and  more 
credulous. 

Nothing  amused  Stephen  more  than  to  hear  the 
two  fanatics  marshal  their  arguments.  Though 
she  had  less  to  say,  it  was  evident  that  his  wife 
.shared  their  interest.  He  was  sorry  for  that.  It 
was  perfectly  evident  to  so  keen  an  observer  that  a 
double  motive  spurred  Linora  on  to  discuss  and 
question.  She  was  interested  in  the  subject ;  she 
was  doubly  interested  in  exciting  Bernard  to  en 
thusiastic  exposition  of  his  views.  Zeal  is  apt  to 
lead  a  man  into  ridiculous  display,  and  Bernard 
was  mirth-provoking  at  his  best.  Even  Sarah, 
who  loved  him,  could  see  that,  and  caught  herself 
wishing  that,  for  the  sake  of  impartial  eyes,  he 
would  not  rumple  his  hair  and  snap  his  eyes  in 
the  heat  of  argument. 

"  For  —  either  one  of  two  things,"  said  Bernard, 
when  the  four  were  together,  "  either  one  of  two 
things  !  "  He  put  one  lean  finger  on  the  table  to 
mark  a  point,  and  sat  blinking  rapidly  at  Stephen. 
Linora,  having  plied  the  subject  as  bait  until  he 
had  once  vigorously  seized  upon  it,  lay  back  in  her 


LINORA.  221 

chair  and  watched  him.  "  Either  these  phenomena 
come  from  some  strange  faculty  of  the  mind,  un 
classified  as  yet,  or  they  are  literally  communica 
tions  from  the  spirits  of  the  dead.  In  either  case 
we  are  bound  to  investigate." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Stephen,  his  coolness  in  striking 
contrast  with  Bernard's  perturbation. 

"Because  we  are  the  better  for  all  knowl 
edge,"  went  on  Bernard.  "We  have  the  revela 
tion  by  faith ;  perhaps  we  are  going  to  have  it  by 
sight." 

"  Half  of  it,"  said  Stephen,  "  does  come  from 
unclassified  action  of  the  mind,  as  you  say ;  half 
is  clever  guessing.  I  am  willing  to  stake  ten  to 
one  that,  if  I  chose  to  barter  for  it  the  simple 
practice  of  not  lying,  I  could  act  as  medium  for 
five  years,  and  retire  on  a  princely  fortune,  with  a 
prime  reputation." 

"You  may  be  a  genuine  medium,"  suggested 
Linora. 

"No,  I  have  only  my  quota  of  senses.     But  — 
added  he,  glancing  at  her  mischievously,   "I'll 
prove  my  point,  if  you  like.     Shall  I  tell  your  past 
history,  and  let  you  judge  my  guessing  powers  for 
yourself?  " 

Sarah  laughed,  but  instantly  stopped  when  Lin 
ora  shrank  into  herself,  saying,  with  real  earnest 
ness,  "Not  that!  Be  kind!"  Sarah  at  once 
thought  of  the  priest,  and  tingled  with  shame  and 


222  FOOLS  OF  NATDEE. 

sorrow  that  they  should  have  reminded  the  poor 
little  creature  of  her  sufferings. 

It  happened  about  this  time  that  Miss  Maria 
broke  through  a  custom  of  long  standing,  and  made 
a  visit  to  Boston.  She  had  not  once  seen  Leonard 
since  he  left  Coventry.  Through  one  pretext  or 
another,  Riker  had  prevented  his  pupil  from  going 
down  to  the  old  home.  Miss  Maria  knew  the 
reason  quite  as  well  as  Eiker  himself.  He  was 
well  aware  of  her  hatred  of  him,  and  her  continual 
mental  remonstrance  against  Leonard's  stay  with 
him.  The  medium  feared  her  influence ;  he  would 
never  allow  her  to  exert  it  if  he  could  prevent  it. 
Therefore,  since  her  boy  could  not  go  to  her,  she 
would  find  him  in  Boston.  She  wished,  if  possi 
ble,  to  go  when  Eiker  was  away  from  home,  but 
there  was  no  certainty  of  being  able  to  do  that. 
One  morning,  as  she  was  pondering  over  the  ques 
tion  in  the  midst  of  breakfast-getting,  a  neighbor 
brought  in  a  letter  from  Leonard.  In  the  course 
of  it,  he  mentioned,  incidentally,  that  the  pro 
fessor  had  consented  to  give  a  lecture  in  the  west 
ern  part  of  the  state.  Some  wealthy  resident  of  a 
town  had  begged  him  to  do  so  as  a  great  favor,  and 
in  consideration  of  a  large  sum  of  money.  The 
date  mentioned  was  the  very  day  on  which  Miss 
Maria  was  reading  the  letter.  Her  resolution  was 
formed  and  matured  in  a  flash. 


LINORA.  223 

"Pa,"  she  said,  when  Uncle  Ben  came  in  from 
milking,  "I'm  going  to  Boston."  Uncle  Ben 
straightened  himself  after  putting  down  the  pails, 
took  oft'  his  hat,  aud  passed  his  hand  over  his  hair. 

"  Sho  !  "  was  his  final  exclamation. 

"You  see,"  went  on  Maria,  discreetly  reserving 
a  part  of  her  motives,  "  I  ain't  seen  Leonard  for 
nobody  knows  how  long,  and  this  morning  it's 
come  over  me,  so  that  I  guess  I'll  go  to-day,  if 
you'll  get  me  to  the  depot." 

"  Now  how  pleased  he'll  be  !  "  said  Uncle  Ben, 
the  smiling  wrinkles  deepening  in  his  face.  Then 
the  shadow  of  an  anxious  thought  flitted  across  it. 
"  It  ain't  another  arrant,  Maria?  "  he  said,  taking 
a  step  towards  her.  "  Is  it  because  you  want  to 
see  a  doctor  up  there,  an'  are  keepin'  it  away  from 
me?" 

Maria  laughed,  half  in  genuine  pleasure  at  his 
constant  thought  of  her,  half  in  ridicule  of  the 
thought. 

"  You've  never  known  me  to  tell  a  lie  when  I 
did  speak,  have  you,  Pa?  I've  kept  a  good  many 
things  close,  but  I  never  lied  out-and-out.  I  don't 
want  to  see  any  doctor,  and  I  won't  see  any  doc 
tor,  and  there's  the  whole  !  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  that  sets  my  mind  easy,"  said  Uncle 
Ben,  beginning  to  bustle  about.  "  Now  you  fly 
round  an'  get  off,  an'  leave  the  dishes  to  me." 

In  two  hours'  time  Miss  Maria  was  sitting  in  the 


224  FOOLS   OP  NATURE. 

train  flying  towards  Boston,  her  bag  in  her  lap, 
tightly  clasped  by  both  hands,  and  an  expression 
of  determination  on  her  face.  As  the  magnitude  of 
the  occasion  impressed  her  more  deeply,  and  she  felt 
that  it  would  be  impossible,  in  the  nature  of 
things,  for  such  wild  trips  to  occur  often,  she  be 
came  a  little  dismayed  at  the  thought  that  Leon 
ard  himself  might  not  be  at  home.  That  she  might 
telegraph  and  ask  him  to  remain  at  home,  should 
he  still  be  there,  did  occur  to  her,  but  though 
she  was  not  sparing  of  money,  she  could  not  tele 
graph.  That  adaptation  of  the  lightning  seemed 
sacred  to  the  uses  of  adversity,  the  announcement 
of  illness  and  death.  There  seemed,  although  she 
did  not  so  state  it  to  herself,  an  impropriety  in 
using  it  for  trivial  purposes. 

When  she  reached  the  house  in  Kay  Street,  her 
eye  was  at  once  arrested  by  the  sign  which  set 
forth  Professor  Leonard's  name.  She  stopped  to 
contemplate  it.  Despite  the  fact  that  she  firmly 
believed  Leonard  to  be  a  dupe,  in  his  turn  duping 
others,  she  did  feel  a  thrill  of  pride  in  regarding 
that  sign ! 

Professor  Leonard  was  in,  and  Maria  awaited 
her  turn  in  the  reception  room,  with  Linora,  as  it 
happened.  Linora  became  instantly  observant  of 
the  woman's  village  smartness  of  dress,  and  her 
New  England  type  of  face.  Placing  one's  self  in 
these  semi-spiritual  surroundings  seemed  to  do 


LINORA.  225 

away  with  the  small  restraints  of  conventionality. 
People  never  waited  for  an  introduction  in  Professor 
Leonard's  reception  room.  Linora  drew  her  chair 
nearer,  and  asked  in  a  gentle  voice,  the  deprecation 
of  which  itself  apologized  for  the  liberty,  — 

"Pardon  me,  but  are  you  a  spiritualist?  " 

"No,"  said  Miss  Maria,  stiffening,  and  embrac 
ing  with  delight  the  opportunity  of  displaying  her 
true  colors  in  a  place  where  they  could  by  no 
means  offend  her  father.  "No,  I  thank  the  Lord 
I'm  not." 

"  Excuse  me ;  I  thought  from  your  being 
here  —  " 

"  I'm  here  to  see  the  medium.  I've  known  him 
ever  since  he  was  a  little  boy.  My  father  brought 
him  up." 

"  Then  your  father  is  the  old  gentleman  I  have 
sometimes  seen  here,"  said  Linora,  assuming  the 
air  of  the  interest  she  really  felt.  "  But  he  be 
lieves  in  it?" 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Maria,  shortly.  She  was  not 
drawn  to  Linora.  Having  justified  herself  in  re 
gard  to  the  imputation  of  belief  in  spiritualism, 
she  meant  to  go  no  further  in  the  catechism. 

A  second  visitor  was  shown  in,  —  Sarah.  Lin 
ora  had  begged  for  her  companionship  an  hour 
before,  and  Sarah  had  refused  it.  When  Linora 
had  gone,  however,  she  thought  over  the  girl's 
erratic  ways,  and  felt  impelled  to  meet  her  at 


226  FOOLS  OF  NATURE. 

Leonard's,  in  spite  of  her  own  shrinking  from  the 
place.  She  still  saw  no  reason  why  a  girl  of  re 
spectable  training  should  be  attended  through  her 
maiden  life.  That  was  true  of  the  generality  of 
girls,  but  she  began  to  have  a  faint  glimmering  of 
an  idea  that  Linora  personally  needed  a  duenna. 

"  How  good  you  were  to  come  !  "  called  Linora. 
"And  you  want  to  see  this  lady.  She  is  the 
daughter  of  the  old  gentleman  you  liked  so  much." 
In  the  instant  before  acknowledging  the  awkward 
introduction,  Sarah  was  conscious  of  thankfulness 
that  Linora  had  not  phrased  the  description  as  her 
"wise  old  man." 

Miss  Maria  was  as  quick  in  her  likings  as  her  in 
antipathies.  Sarah's  face  was  not  only  bright  but 
frank,  and  the  elder  woman  put  out  her  hand  to 
her. 

"How  did  you  know  my  father?  "  she  asked. 

"I  saw  him  here  one  day,  and  he  was  kind 
enough  to  talk  with  me,"  answered  Sarah.  "I 
was  very  grateful  to  him."  Maria  smiled,  well 
pleased. —  "Suppose,"  Sarah  went  on,  turning  to 
Linora,  "  suppose  you  make  your  visit  some  other 
day?  This  lady  will  have  more  time  for  her  call, 
and  you  can  come  again  better  than  she." 

It  was  for  Linora's  sake  also.  Sarah  could  but 
feel  that  whatever  good  spiritualism  might  hold, 
it  was  not  meant  for  precisely  this  sort  of  nature. 
Linora  would  gladly  have  demurred,  but  as  Miss 


UNORA.  227 

Maria  did  not  refuse  the  sacrifice,  she  yielded,  and 
the  two  took  their  leave,  Maria  going  to  an  ex 
cess  of  cordiality  that  was  surprising  even  to 
herself.  "If  you  should  ever  come  my  way  — 
Coventry  —  come  and  see  us,"  she  said,  pointedly 
to  Sarah. 

The  visitor  closeted  with  Leonard  came  out 
alone,  and  presently  Leonard  followed.  Maria 
heard  his  step,  and  her  heart  beat  high,  but  she  did 
not  turn  her  face. 

"This  way,  if  you  please,"  said  the  familiar 
voice,  not  so  strikingly  changed  as  she  had  expect 
ed  it  to  be.  Maria  did  not  move.  The  young 
man  came  nearer,  and  looked  curiously  at  her. 
His  astonished  blue  eyes  seemed  to  start  from  their 
sockets. 

"Auntie  I  it  isn't  I  it  can't  be  I  " 

"  Ain't  it  ?  "  said  Maria,  composedly,  though  her 
own  cheeks  were  flushed  and  her  eyes  full  of 
tears.  "Well,  I  should  like  to  know  why  it 
ain't?" 

Leonard  was  quite  beside  himself,  but  none  too 
demented  for  her.  She  had  a  jealous  heart ;  it 
demanded  much  from  the  few  who  occupied  it. 
Leonard  told  the  servant  to  deny  him  to  other  vis 
itors,  and  led  Maria  into  his  private  room.  There 
she  was  about  to  throw  off  her  shawl,  but  paused 
midway  to  ask,  — 

" Is  he  gone?" 


228  POOLS   OP  NATURE. 

«  Professor  Riker?    Yes." 
«  For  all  day?" 

"Yes."  Then  she  put  aside  her  wrappings, 
settled  her  collar  and  bow,  and  began,  abrupt- 

iy>- 

"  Well,  how's  he  treated  you?" 

"Well  I  splendidly  !  "  answered  the  boy,  heart 
ily.  "He's  always  been  good  to  me,  and  I  have 
more  money  than  I  want  to  spend." 

"  Do  you  lay  up  any  ?  " 

"Yes ;  the  professor  does  for  me." 

"  Where  has  he  put  it?" 

"In  a  bank  here." 

"  In  your  name  ?  " 

"  No,  in  his.  He  does  all  my  business  for  me  ; 
he  understands  business." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  Maria.  "  Lenny,  you  take  my 
advice,  and  have  every  cent  you  own  put  under 
your  own  name.  It's  safer;  something  might 
happen,"  she  added,  with  an  afterthought  that 
there  was  no  necessity  for  arousing  in  him  a  dis 
trust  to  no  purpose.  "  The  professor  may  die, 
you  know." 

"Yes,"  said  Len,  with  easy  assurance,  "but  if 
he  did,  Mrs.  Eiker'd  look  out  for  me." 

Maria  groaned  in  spirit,  and  held  her  peace. 
As  she  looked  at  Len,  in  his  fashionable  dress, 
—  and  it  struck  her  with  even  more  awe  for  its 
gaudiness,  —  she  felt  herself  slightly  dazed  by  his 


UNORA.  229 

elegance  and  that  of  the  room.  She  was  still 
firmly  convinced  that  his  money  was  ill-gotten, 
but  there  is,  nevertheless,  something  very  impos 
ing  in  the  sight  of  prosperity,  even  that  of  the 
wicked.  A  thing  may  have  no  right  to  exist, 
yet  when  it  stares  you  calmly  in  the  face,  saying 
"  I  am  ! "  there  seems  some  practical  difficulty  in  dis 
puting  its  claim  point-blank.  The  personal  change 
in  Len  did  not  deeply  affect  her.  She  had  been 
training  herself  during  his  absence  to  the  expecta 
tion  of  finding  him  altered  beyond  recognition, 
and  the  reality  lay  far  behind  her  fears. 

"  Lenny,"  she  began  again,  fixing  her  keen  gray 
eyes  on  his,  "  do  you  honestly  and  truly  believe  in 
what  you  tell  folks  here,  —  in  this  spiritualism 
business  ?  " 

"Honestly  and  truly,  auntie,"  answered  Lcn, 
without  hesitation. 

"  Do  you  believe  you  see  things,  and  hear  people 
talk  to  you  ?  " 

"  I  know  I  see  the  old  lady  I've  always  seen,  and 
she  does  talk  to  me,"  said  Len,  meeting  her  gaze 
unflinchingly .  "  Sometimes  I  don't  see  her  for  days, 
and  then  again  she  won't  leave  me  for  weeks." 

"  What  do  you  think  she  is  ?  "  went  on  Maria, 
making  a  last  despairing  effort  to  reach  the  bottom 
of  his  consciousness. 

"  Why,  my  control ! "  said  he,  surprised  at  the 
intimation  that  there  might  be  another  theory. 


230  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

'"The  professor  says  so,  and  Uncle  Ben  says  so. 
They  know  more'n  I  do." 

"  You  say  she  talks  to  you ;  do  you  hear  her 
voice  ?  " 

"  No,  not  exactly,  —  not  in  my  ears ;  in  my 
mind.  I  can't  seem  to  tell  you  about  it,  auntie. 
I  seem  to  hear  it  and  feel  it  together." 

Aunt  Maria  gave  up  the  solution,  in  pure  de 
spair,  and  turned  to  the  less  vexing  point  of  gaining 
a  promise  from  him  to  visit  Coventry.  That  proved 
impossible.  Len  acknowledged  his  longing  to  be 
there  again ;  homesick  tears  came  into  his  eyes, 
confirming  his  words,  but  he  could  only  promise 
provisionally.  He  must  do  whatever  the  professor 
said.  Maria  realized  that,  in  some  mysterious  way, 
he  was  held  under  the  influence  of  a  will  beside 
which  her  persuasion  had  little  weight.  When 
she  took  her  way  home  that  night,  she  was  very 
doubtful  as  to  her  own  satisfaction  in  her  visit. 
So  far  as  coming  to  any  right  understanding  of 
Len's  position  was  concerned,  it  had  ended  in 
smoke.  The  sight  of  him,  however,  had  satisfied 
her  affection.  Strange,  too,  as  it  was,  and  as  she 
felt  it  to  be,  his  simple  declaration  convinced  her 
of  his  continued  honesty,  in  the  face  of  evidence 
to  the  contrary. 

Leonard  had  not  told  her  everything  in  regard 
to  his  manner  of  working,  simply  because  he 
could  not.  He  himself  did  not  know  how  deeply 


LINORA.  231 

he  had  been  drawn  into  Biker's  own  methods. 
His  master  still  kept  him,  at  intervals,  conning 
high-sounding  diction,  suited  to  the  consolation  of 
the  afflicted,  and  descriptive  of  the  occupations 
and  emotions  of  those  who  had  "  passed  over  into 
spirit  life."  He  accepted  such  tasks  unquestion- 
ingly,  as  part  of  his  education,  and  was  quite 
unconscious  of  their  influence  on  his  business 
interviews.  He  would  have  been  horrified  at  the 
thought  of  interpolating  ideas  of  his  own  in  the 
messages  given  to  him  by  his  "  control,"  but  as 
time  went  on,  those  messages  became  inextricably 
mingled  with  fragments  of  remembered  rote.  On 
the  days  when  he  firmly  declared  that  he  could 
not  see  his  phantom,  Riker  was  obliged  to  excuse 
him  to  visitors,  though  thereby  was  lost  many  a 
fat  fee.  But  as  his  master  pressed  him  with 
hourly  repeated  inquiries  as  to  his  possible  ability 
to  recall  her,  the  boy  was  inevitably  driven  into  a 
nervous  trepidation  which  always  ended  in  her 
appearance.  So,  with  this  resource  of  harassment 
at  his  command,  Riker  was  able  to  take  care  that 
the  periods  when  Leonard  was  not "  under  control " 
should  be  of  short  duration. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

AN  UNEXPECTED   CHECK. 

"OERNARD  had  not  resigned  himself  to  the 

•~~^ 

-*-*  prospect  of  idleness,  though,  as  it  seemed, 
he  was  not  to  find  work  as  a  journalist.  There 
was  no  place  for  him  in  Boston,  as  there  had  been 
none  in  New  York.  He  had  had  no  experience, 
and  editors  showed  a  surprising  unanimity  in 
refusing  to  take  the  will  for  the  deed.  In  the 
mean  time,  he  must  live  on  the  money  of  which  he 
felt  himself  wrongfully  possessed,  though  when 
the  hour  for  work  should  come,  as  it  must,  he 
would  pay  it  back  to  the  last  penny.  In  these 
days,  Sarah  was  not  his  chief  adviser ;  that  place 
was  held  by  Linora.  If  Bernard  did  not  tell  her 
all  the  facts  which  weighed  upon  him,  he  hinted 
so  constantly  at  his  overmastering  emotions  that 
the  clever  little  creature  finally  knew  him  far 
better  than  he  knew  himself.  Sarah,  in  secret,  de 
plored  her  inability  to  approach  him,  but  noted 
his  growing  intimacy  with  Linora,  and  was  glad. 
He  must  become  fond  of  her.  If  Linora  could 
forget  her  priest,  and  sometime  return  his  possible 
love,  it  would  be  well  for  them  both.  She  had 
begun  to  realize  that  there  were  strange  inconsist- 

232 


AN   UNEXPECTED   CHECK.  233 

ences  in  Linora's  nature,  but  she  reflected  that 
marriage  and  happiness  might  assimilate  them  into 
the  consistently  good. 

The  time  came  when  Bernard  spoke  cautiously 
to  Linora  of  his  parentage.  Linora  immediately 
assumed  the  existence  of  a  thrilling  domestic 
drama,  evolving  from  her  sentimentally  disposed 
brain  the  conclusion  that,  beyond  the  bare  facts  he 
had  mentioned,  lay  some  dramatic  mystery.  For 
the  solution  of  that  she  insisted  upon  his  consult 
ing  Professor  Leonard.  Bernard  refused,  thought 
it  all  over,  and  went.  Could  the  medium  describe 
his  mother?  Bernard  was  conscious  of  a  great 
curiosity  as  to  whether  the  tie  of  blood  or  the 
ignobility  of  his  nature  might  be  stronger.  Should 
he  hate  her  because  she  was  not  of  the  manner  of 
life  he  coveted,  or  love  her  simply  because  he  was 
of  her  flesh? 

Leonard  was  that  day  sadly  homesick,  a  state 
of  emotion  for  which  Maria  was  responsible. 
The  sight  of  her  had  renewed  his  longing  for  the 
old  place,  the  farm-house,  the  little  river  flowing 
near,  the  peaceful  faces  of  the  two  people  dearest 
to  him.  He  had  asked  permission  to  go  down  at 
once,  and  Biker  had  refused.  His  denials  were 
still  kind ;  they  lay  in  an  indefinite  postponement. 

Bernard's  first  question  was,  "Tell me  about  my 
mother."  And  Leonard  began  with  his  stereo 
typed  phrase,  "I  see  an  old  lady."  Thereupon 


234  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

followed  the  description  he  had  given  Sarah,  and, 
like  Sarah,  Bernard  fitted  the  words  to  his  adopted 
mother. 

"Not  that  one,"  he  said.  "I  mean  my  real 
mother,  not  my  adopted  one.  The  one  alive  ;  the 
one  I  haven't  seen  for  so  long." 

Leonard's  heart,  big  with  his  own  longing  for 
home,  pictured  to  him  a  mother  neglected,  de 
prived  of  her  son  for  many  years. 

"  Oh,  go  and  see  her  !  "  he  broke  forth,  earnestly, 
"go  back  to  her  and  ask  her  to  forgive  you." 
Bernard  could  not  protest  against  the  latter  phrase. 
There  lay  much  need  of  forgiveness,  he  thought, 
in  his  disloyalty. 

"  Would  she  be  glad  to  see  me  ?  "  he  asked,  his 
heart  sinking  under  the  thought  that  he  might  in 
deed  feel  called  upon  to  go. 

"  She  thinks  of  you  all  the  time.  She  is  waiting 
for  you  to  come  back."  Further  questioning  elici 
ted  nothing  of  a  different  nature.  Leonard  owned 
that  the  "  control "  had  left  him  and  he  could  say 
no  more. 

Whether  Bernard  was  or  was  not  influenced  by 
this  as  being  supernatural,  and  therefore  weighty 
advice,  it  gave  him  a  new  idea.  All  these  months 
he  had  been  longing  to  perform  some  sort  of 
exaggerated  penance.  Might  it  not  be  the  true, 
the  noble  tiling,  to  go  back  to  his  own  people  and 
live  in  their  midst?  He,  with  his  evil  nature, 


AN  UNEXPECTED   CHECK.  235 

seemed  to  hold  no  place  among  the  irreproachable 
in  life  and  pure  in  heart.  Let  him  return  to  the 
place  and  rank  where  nature  placed  him,  and  be 
come  at  least  an  honest  laboring  man.  He  went 
home  and  told  Linora  of  his  decision.  To  his 
srreat  delight  she  combated  it.  What  could  be 

r?  o 

more  welcome  than  the  declaration  of  one  knowing 
his  position,  that  he  was  expecting  too  much  of 
himself? 

"  Now,"  said  Linora,  in  a  business-like  manner, 
"  where  is  the  duty  ?  You  are  trying  to  make 
one  where  none  exists.  Your  mother  gave  you 
away  because  it  was  best  for  you  and  convenient 
for  her.  It  is  still  best  for  you  to  stay  away  ;  no 
doubt  it  is  still  convenient  for  her  to  have  you." 

The  advice  coincided  entirely  with  his  own  in 
clinations,  but  it  did  strike  him  as  being  slightly 
cold-blooded.  Linora  was  marvellously  quick  in 
response  to  the  mood  of  her  listeners.  She  de 
tected  in  his  face  the  surprise  that  held  no  approval , 
and  her  own  expression  changed  at  once.  She 
broke  into  tearful  appeal. 

"  I  am  selfish !  "  she  said,  putting  her  hand  on 
his  arm.  "I  am  not  to  be  trusted  for  advice. 
You  see,  I  need  you  here  so  much  that  I  can't  ask 
you  to  go." 

What  man  or  woman  was  ever  ungratified  by  a 
just  appreciation  of  himself?  Bernard,  like  most 
unprepossessing  people,  was  gifted  with  a  large 


236  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

quota  of  vanity,  and  sought  Linora  oftener  because 
her  friendship  for  him  seemed  to  be  growing  in 
warmth.  And  she  was  sincerely  anxious  to  keep 
him.  He  represented  a  punctual  and  attentive 
audience. 

Now  came  one  of  her  periodical  seasons  of 
grief.  What  wonder  ?  The  priest  had  again  re 
turned,  again  insisted  on  seeing  her,  and  again 
she  was  unable  to  deny  him.  By  this  time  both 
Bernard  and  Sarah  had  settled  into  a  very  decided 
disgust  at  the  proceedings  of  the  invisible  lover. 
Either  would  have  been  glad  to  offer  him  salutary 
advice.  This  time  Linora  confided  in  them  both, 
stipulating  over  and  over  again  that  every  syllable 
should  be  kept  from  Stephen.  This  time,  too, 
she  proved  herself  amenable  to  reason,  and  gently 
submitted  to  Sarah's  determination  that  at  least 
the  errant  lover  should  come  respectably  to  call 
at  her  own  house,  or  that  Linora  should  refuse  to 
see  him.  The  girl  wearily  acquiesced.  She  was 
tired  of  struggling,  so  she  said ;  perhaps  even  the 
sight  of  him  would  lead  to  no  good.  She  was 
distrustful  enough  now  of  her  own  wisdom  to  allow 
others  to  choose  for  her.  Finally  she  announced 
to  Sarah  that  she  had  written  him,  and  he  had  con 
sented  to  a  meeting  under  conventional  sanctions. 
The  evening  was  appointed,  and  when  it  came, 
Linora  insisted  on  Bernard's  being  also  in  the  house. 
She  seemed  nervously  to  dread  the  ordeal,  declar- 


AN   UNEXPECTED  CHECK.  237 

ing  that  she  needed  his  support,  and  Bernard  was 
flattered  into  thinking  himself  of  some  slight  use 
in  the  world,  after  all. 

Stephen  was  away  that  evening,  to  Linora's 
apparent  relief.  Perhaps,  as  she  knew  of  his  en 
gagement,  she  had  purposely  made  the  appoint 
ment  for  that  night.  As  the  time  drew  near, 
Bernard  and  Sarah  found  themselves  afflicted  by 
a  sympathetic  nervousness.  Linora  was  so  evi 
dently  beside  herself  that  it  was  impossible  to  re 
sist  the  influence  of  her  mood.  As  the  hour 
approached,  she  pathetically  begged  to  be  allowed 
to  wait  alone  in  a  chamber  which  she  had  often 
occupied.  Sarah  and  Bernard  remained  together. 
The  clock  struck,  and  the  priest  had  not  come. 
Five  and  ten  minutes  passed.  Sarah  ventured  to 
look  at  Bernard ;  his  glance  prophesied  ill. 

"He  won't  come," he  said.  "He  has  a  way  of 
not  coming." 

Overhead  they  could  hear  Linora  hurry  up  and 
down  the  room,  all  her  fever  of  impatience  made 
audible  in  her  hastening  footsteps.  The  bell  sud 
denly  rang,  and  the  watchers  started,  exchanging 
another  quick  glance. 

Sarah  stole  on  tiptoe  to  the  head  of  the  stairs. 
A  masculine  voice  was  just  asking  for  Miss  Gale.* 
Sarah  came  back,  her  face  aflame,  her  eyes  bright. 
Bernard  forgot  Linora  in  looking  at  her. 

" Bernard,"  she   announced,  firmly,  "I  am  go- 


238  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

ing  to  see  him  myself  before  she  does.  He  must 
be  warned  not  to  excite  her.  The  poor  little  thing 
is  beside  herself  now." 

She  ran  rapidly  down  the  stairs,  dismissing  the 
servant  whom  she  met,  and  entered  the  room 
where  the  stranger  was  still  standing.  There  was 
nothing  of  the  priest  about  him,  she  thought. 
His  thin  face  was  clean  shaven,  indeed,  but  his 
mouth  was  not  of  the  priestly  order.  He  had 
rather  the  air  of  a  languid  man  about  town. 

"  May  I  say  a  word  to  you  before  you  speak  to 
Linora?"  she  began,  without  preamble.  "The 
poor  child  is  very  nervous,  almost  ill.  I  beg  of 
you  to  make  this  interview  as  little  exciting  as  you 
can." 

"By  all  means,"  said  the  stranger,  in  evident 
surprise.  His  voice  was  neutral,  even  when  enliv 
ened  by  that  emotion.  "  What  I  have  to  say  to 
her  is  of  the  most  commonplace  nature." 

That  seemed  too  unnecessarily  deceptive,  and 
Sarah  was  betrayed  into  a  retort. 

"  That  can  scarcely  be,  when  she  has  suffered  so 
much  on  your  account." 

Immediately  she  was  ashamed  of  having  spoken. 
The  stranger  lifted  his  eyebrows  increduously. 

"  May  I  ask,"  he  said,  as  Sarah  turned  to  leave 
the  room,  "for  whom  you  take  me?" 

"Naturally,"  returned  she,  with  emphasis  ;  "  for 
the  priest  —  she  has  never  told  me  your  name 


AN   UNEXPECTED   CHECK.  239 

—  who  has  been  so  unhappily  connected  with 
her." 

The  man  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  floor  an  in 
stant,  a  smile  curving  his  lips,  and  growing  upon 
them  until  it  brooded  into  a  laugh.  It  was  a  very 
pleasant  laugh. 

"You,"  he  said  then,  looking  up  suddenly, 
"must  be  Mrs.  Mann."  Sarah  bowed,  not  sur 
prised.  "Mrs.  Mann,"  said  the  stranger,  with  a 
change  to  great  frankness,  "  may  I  have  five  min 
utes'  talk  with  you  ?  " 

It  was  certainly  extraordinary.  Here  was  no 
lover-like  haste.  Sarah  came  back  and  gave  him 
a  chair  opposite  the  one  she  took. 

"Now,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  quizzically,  "I 
am  going  to  surprise  you.  I  am  no  priest.  lam 
Miss  Gale's  uncle."  She  looked  at  him  in  a 
dumb  astonishment  which  she  was  conscious  ought 
to  transform  itself  into  horror.  "  She  told  you  I 
was  a  monster,  now,  didn't  she  ?  "  he  went  on,  with 
great  enjoyment.  Sarah  made  no  reply,  but  her 
eyes  spoke  for  her.  "I'm  not,"  he  rejoined, 
coolly.  "  She  is  simply  a  very  theatrical  young 
woman,  with  tastes  adapted  to  the  stage.  It  was 
a  great  pity  it  did  not  occur  to  her  to  go  on,  in  her 
earlier  youth.  Now  shall  I  tell  you  the  little 
fiction  she  has  been  rehearsing  to  you  of  late 
months  ?  " 

Thereupon  he  told  the  entire  story  which  had 


240  FOOLS  OF  NATURE. 

been  Sarah's  constant  food  when  with  Linora, 
ending  with  the  declaration,  made  with  great  calm 
ness,  "  And  there  is  not  one  word  of  truth  in  it 
all !  "  Sarah  had  been  recovering  her  self-posses 
sion.  Once  mistress  of  it,  she  said,  stoutly,  — 

"  It  is  exactly  the  story  Linora  tells.  When  the 
details  agree  so  well,  why  should  I  not  believe 
them?" 

Mr.  Gale  smiled. 

"  You  will  need  to  ask  Linora  for  confirmation. 
Trust  me,  she  enjoys  the  denouement  of  her  drama 
quite  as  well  as  the  intermediate  stages.  The  little 
wretch  has  a  marvellous  appreciation  of  her  own 
cleverness.  Now,  Mrs.  Mann,  I  must  ask  pardon 
for  expecting  you  to  entertain  Ella's  visitors,  — 
yes,  we  who  have  always  known  her  call  her  Ella, 
—  but  I  intend  to  stay  but  one  night  in  the  city, 
and  they  told  me  at  her  boarding-place  where  to 
find  her.  I  had  hoped  also  in  coming  here  to  see 
your  husband,  my  old  friend." 

That  last  clause  went  far  towards  confirming 
Sarah  in  her  growing  faith  in  him.  Her  anger  was 
rising  now.  If  Linora  had  duped  her,  had  cheated 
her  out  of  a  year's  steady  drain  of  sympathy ! 
Two  little  spots  of  red  burned  on  her  cheeks ;  it 
used  to  be  said  in  her  village  home  that  Sarah 
Ellis  was  "high-spirited." 

"My  husband  is  not  at  home,"  she  said,  rising. 
"  He  will  be  sorry,  and  you  must  come  at  another 


AN    UNEXPECTED   CHECK.  241 

time.  Now  will  you  come  with  me  where  we  shall 
not  be  disturbed,  and  I  will  send  for  Linora." 

He  followed,  apparently  gently  amused,  but  in 
capable  of  taking  very  vital  interest  in  anybody  or 
anything.  There  was  tune  to  introduce  him  to 
Bernard  before  Linora  came,  and  time  to  add 
meaningly,  "  This  is  Linora's  uncle."  Bernard's 
eyes  also  began  to  devour  the  monster,  a  proceed 
ing  the  monster  evidently  understood  and  which 
did  not  displease  him.  Linora  came  softly  in,  her 
drooping  form  and  woeful  expression  making  an 
artistic  whole. 

"Well,  Ella,"  said  the  uncle,  dryly,  putting  out 
his  hand. 

Blank  astonishment  usurped  her  features,  effect 
ually  disposing  of  their  misery.  Then  she  made  a 
swift  attempt  to  recover  herself  and  assume  a 
natural  trepidation.  Bernard  and  Sarah  were  not 
losing  a  look,  the  former  quite  dazed  by  the  turn 
affairs  had  taken. 

"  Now,  Ella,"  began  her  uncle,  quietly,  but  not 
without  a  certain  authority,  "this  is  the  last 
scene,  you  know  ;  don't  try  to  prolong  it.  I  have 
been  telling  Mrs.  Mann  that  your  priest-ridden 
love-story  is  all  a  myth.  Is  it?  " 

The  girl  hesitated  a  moment,  in  thought ;  then 
she  laughed  in  genuine  enjoyment. 

"  I  must  sit  down  if  I'm  to  be  cross-examined," 
she  said,  taking  a  chair,  and  crossing  her  little  feet 


242  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

and  hands.  "Yes,  I  suppose  I  might  as  well  con 
fess  that  it  was  the  fruit  of  my  invention." 

"As  to  my  tyranny?"  suggested  Mr.  Gale, 
gently  patting  the  arm  of  his  chair.  Linora 
smiled  at  him  in  the  most  serene  good-nature. 

"  You've  always  been  a  dear  thing,"  she  said,  in 
what  seemed  real  affection.  "  I  wouldn't  slander 
you  for  the  world,  if  life  wasn't  so  awfully  stupid." 

"And  —  ah,  there  is  one  point  I  seem  to  have 
forgotten,"  he  went  on,  with  somewhat  weary 
conscientiousness.  "Did  you  make  the  loss  of 
your  voice  one  item  of  your  drama?  It  usually  is, 
as  I  remember  it.  — This  young  lady,  Mrs,  Mann, 
was  born  without  capacity  for  musical  training. 
She  never  had  a  voice,  consequently  she  never 
lost  it.  Now,  I  think  that  is  all." 

"One  thing,"  said  Sarah,  indignantly,  "one 
thing  I  should  like  to  know,  Linora.  What 
earthly  object  did  you  have  in  telling  this  host  of 
lies?" 

Linora  looked  at  her  with  the  first  real  com 
punction  she  had  shown.  Shallow  as  she  might 
be,  she  would  have  preferred  that  Sarah,  at  least, 
should  continue  to  believe  in  her.  Her  uncle  left 
her  no  time  to  reply. 

"  I  see  I  must  briefly  sketch  this  young  lady's 
career,"  he  said.  "  Her  mother  died  when  she  was 
very  young.  She  never  had  advisers,  or  pastors, 
or  masters  of  wise  repute.  Her  father  let  her  go 


AN    UNEXPECTED   CHECK.  243 

into  society  when  she  pleased.  That  was  when  she 
was  sixteen.  From  that  time  to  her  twenty-eighth 
year  she  was  steadily  busy  in  the  rather  ill-bred 
pastime  known  as  flirting.  I  suppose  she  num 
bers  her  victims  by  the  hundred."  Here  Linora 
smiled,  in  retrospective  enjoyment.  "About  that 
time  I  became  her  guardian,  and,  as  I  proved 
somewhat  of  a  damper  on  her  amusements,  she 
preferred  to  live  away  from  me.  I  had  no  objec 
tion.  For  the  last  four  years  she  had  been  gulling 
people  with  the  little  dramatic  fiction  1  have  just 
told  you.  Society  was  wearing  her  out,  body  and 
mind,  and  she  was  tired  of  it.  Most  people  under 
such  circumstances,  embrace  religion  ;  Ella  had 
dramatic  instincts,  and  she  took  to  private  theat 
ricals.  Last  summer,  however,  they  seemed  to 
have  palled  upon  her,  and  she  begged  me  to  take 
her  to  various  fashionable  resorts,  where  she 
danced  and  flirted  to  her  heart's  content.  I  did  it 
as  a  precautionary  measure  ;  I  thought  it  quite  as 
well  that  she  should  exercise  her  inclinations  in 
my  care.  I  can't  take  it  upon  myself  to  watch 
her  all  the  time,  but  whenever  I  find  it  possible,  I 
drop  down  and  expose  her  to  her  last  victims.  It 
not  only  saves*  them  from  being  too  deeply 
deceived,  but  I  fancy  in  time  it  may  prove  salutary 
for  her.  Possibly,  with  public  exposure  always 
before  her,  she  may  not  continue  to  indulge  in  her 
intemperance." 


244  FOOLS    OF  NATURE. 

His  manner  was  still  languid  and  his  tone 
unconcerned,  but  Sarah  thought  she  detected  an 
undercurrent  of  real  annoyance  and  displeasure. 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  Linora,  airily,  from  behind 
her  archly  uplifted  fan.  She  was  not  defiant  nor 
ashamed,  —  only  amused  at  her  own  cleverness, 
and  at  the  unexpected  blow  of  finding  the  tables 
turned  upon  her.  At  that  moment  she  caught 
sight  of  Bernard,  bending  forward,  his  hair  dishev 
elled,  his  mouth  and  eyes  distended.  She  broke 
into  overwhelming  laughter ;  peal  upon  peal  it 
came,  till  the  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks.  Angry 
and  disgusted  as  she  had  been,  Sarah's  inevitable 
sense  of  humor  came  to  the  surface,  and  she  smiled 
against  her  will.  Even  Gale  looked  at  Linora  with 
a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  his  mouth  curving  almost 
imperceptibly. 

"  Whenever  I  see  him,"  panted  Linora,  in  the 
midst  of  inextinguishable  bursts  of  merriment, 
"  whenever  I  see  him  I  think  of  that  night  when 
we  paced  up  and  down  at  our  rendezvous.  I 
nearly  died  over  it;  I'm  so  glad  I  can  laugh  it 
out ! " 

It  is  difficult  to  realize  that  one's  self  is  included 
in  a  deception.  In  some  strange  manner  Bernard 
had  overlooked  his  own  share  in  the  farce  ;  now  he 
started,  flushing  irritably. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  — "  he  began,  and  then 
stopped,  trembling. 


AN   UNEXPECTED   CHECK.  245 

"The  way  we  paced  up  and  down,  and  he  so 
sorry  for  me  !  "  went  on  Linora,  still  pointing  at 
him,  and  trying  to  wipe  her  tears.  "His  delicate 
sympathy !  His  patience,  and  the  heroism  with 
which  he  kept  down  his  shivers  !  It  was  a  fear 
fully  cold  night,  but  I  was  muffled  and  veiled.  Oh, 
how  I  have  laughed  at  it  since,  and  how  I  laughed 
that  night !  And  when  I  could  contain  myself  no 
longer,  he  thought  I  sobbed." 

Bernard  waited  for  no  more ;  he  walked  from 
the  room,  looking  at  no  one,  and  presently  they 
heard  the  street  door  close  behind  him.  There 
was  a  slight  flush  on  Gale's  face. 

"Mrs.  Mann,"  he  said,  rising,  "I  hope  you  will 
do  me  the  justice  to  believe  that  I  am  very  much 
ashamed.  Perhaps  it  was  not  wise  to  make  a  scene, 
but  my  good  angel  isn't  always  at  hand,  and  I  am 
afraid  I  was  too  —  well,  —  displeased  with  Ella  to 
be  very  delicate." 

Sarah  gave  him  her  hand,  looking  at  him  with 
frank  cordiality. 

"I  thank  you,  and  I  want  to  know  you,"  she 
said,  simply.  You  must  come  to  us  at  your  first 
opportunity." 

Linora  put  her  palms  together  and  approached 
them,  a  humble  little  penitent. 

"Don't  try  anything  of  that  sort  again,"  said 
Sarah,  her  anger  breaking  bounds.  "If  you  wish 
me  to  tolerate  you,  be  your  real  self,  —  if  there  is 


246  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

any  real  self  to  you."  Linora  turned  away,  brush 
ing  aside  what  might  have  been  a  couple  of  genuine 
tears. 

"I  did  care  for  you,"  she  said,  bluntly.  "I 
didn't  lie  there." 

Sarah  waited  for  her  husband  that  night,  and, 
when  he  came,  ran  to  meet  him  like  a  whirlwind. 

"  Stephen,  what  do  you  know  about  Linora?" 

"What  do  you  know?"  asked  he,  shaking  the 
rain-drops  from  his  hat,  and  then  turning  to  con 
front  her  with  a  mischievous  face. 

"Everything!" 

"Well,  so  do  I,"  returned  her  husband,  as  they 
went  up  stairs.  "  How  did  your  revelation  come  ?  " 

Sarah  told  him  the  story  from  beginning  to  end, 
finishing  with  the  exclamation,  "Now,  Stephen, 
why  did  you  allow  me  to  be  deceived  ?  " 

"My  dearest,"  said  Stephen,  reflectively,  "I 
suppose  that  was  one  of  the  few  humane  impulses  of 
my  life.  You  remember  she  asked  me  to  let  you 
keep  on  caring  for  her.  Just  at  the  time  you  were 
promising  to  bless  my  own  life,  and  that  made  me 
soft-hearted.  I  knew  the  girl  felt  about  you  exactly 
as  I  do,  —  that  you  are  as  pure  as  an  angel  and  as 
true  as  truth.  I  thought  you  might  do  her  good." 

"And  I  haven't ! "  cried  Sarah,  conscience- 
stricken. 

"  You  must  have,  little  heart.  You  couldn't  ex 
pect  to  change  her  nature  ;  that's  warped  out  of  all 


AN   UNEXPECTED   CHECK.  247 

symmetry  by  this  time.     But  it  would  do  the  arch 
fiend  himself  good  to  see  you  often." 

"  But  why  didn't  you  tell  me  before  we  were 
engaged,  when  you  saw  she  was  deceiving  me?" 
asked  Sarah,  willing  to  draw  the  conversation 
away  from  her  own  perfections. 

"  I  couldn't !  It  seemed  such  an  underhand 
thing  to  do,  especially  as  I  was  sure  you  couldn't 
be  injured  by  her.  I  suppose  she  took  me  in  as 
thoroughly  as  she  ever  swallowed  a  victim." 

"  Tell  me  about  it." 

"Well,  she  told  me  her  story,  and  I  was  so 
sorry  for  her  that  we  swore  an  oath  of  eternal 
friendship ;  and  she  used  to  call  me  her  champion 
and  brother.  Then,  after  I  met  Gale  with  her  in 
New  York,  and  he  gave  the  true  version,  —  because 
it  was  necessary,  you  understand;  he  saw  I  was 
too  thoroughly  gulled,  —  I  was  so  furiously  angry 
with  her,  and  disgusted  with  myself,  that  I  acted 
the  ruffian  to  her  fair  penitent,  ever  after ;  at  least 
until  you  came,  and  your  fingers  smoothed  out  all 
my  rage  and  wrinkles." 

"I  wonder  how  I  shall  treat  her  if  we  meet 
again,"  mused  Sarah. 

"  You  will  meet  again,"  sajd  Stephen,  smiling 
broadly.  "  She  won't  give  you  up  so.  She's  the 
coolest  little  piece  that  ever  told  a  lie.  And  she 
is  amusing ! "  he  added,  emphatically.  "  I  can 
forgive  her  much,  in  consideration  of  that." 


CHAPTEE    XVH. 

OUTSroE   AND   IN. 

T  INORA  had,  indeed,  no  idea  of  giving  up  her 
-*-^  friends.  It  was  on  the  very  evening  after 
the  end  of  her  comedy  that  she  made  her  appear 
ance  unannounced,  in  the  room  where  the  three 
sat  together.  Bernard  himself  had  just  come. 
His  evil  humors  were  strong  upon  him.  His 
thoughts  were  troubled  by  demons  of  iniquity  ;  his 
room  was  haunted  by  the  malicious  visitant  Hiker 
had  described.  Choosing  rather  to  be  made  jeal 
ous  of  the  human  than  afraid  of  the  unsubstantial, 
he  had  rushed  away  to  find  such  comfort  as  he 
might  in  companionship. 

Linora  came  in  brightly,  by  no  means  defiant 
in  ignoring  what  had  passed  the  night  before.  She 
had  not  forgotten  it,  and  remembrance  involved  no 
shame.  She  had  enjoyed  it,  and  was  ready  for  a 
new  play. 

Sarah  rose  hesitatingly,  divided  between  the 
promptings  of  her  quick  instinct  of  hospitality,  and 
an  irrepressible  distrust.  Linora  was  equal  to  the 
occasion ;  she  seemed  to  bear  about  her  the  airs 
from  a  thousand  drawing-rooms.  Bernard  would 

248 


OUTSIDE    AND   IN.  249 

not  look  at  her.     Only  with  Stephen  did  she  ex 
change  an  amused  glance. 

"  I  know  you  are  talkingabout  my  iniquities,"  she 
said,  coolly,  taking  her  favorite  corner  of  the  sofa. 
"  Don't  deny  it.  What  was  the  verdict,  —  the 
average  verdict?" 

"You  may  exaggerate  our  interest,"  returned 
Sarah,  quickly.  "And  you  were  mistaken;  we 
hadn't  mentioned  your  name." 

"Not  once?  Then  I'm  glad  I  came,"  said  Lin- 
ora,  imperturbably  ;  "for  you  would  have  done  it 
in  five  minutes  more.  Mr.  Bernard,  you  haven't 
spoken  to  me." 

Bernard  was  beyond  consideration  of  rules 
and  precedents.  She  had  deceived  him ;  he  had 
given  his  most  sacred  confidences  into  soiled 
hands. 

"  I  don't  speak  to  you  because  I  can't,"  he 
answered.  "I  don't  like  you;  I  distrust  you." 
That  seemed  so  plainly  brutal  an  assertion  that 
Sarah,  with  her  idea  of  the  growing  relation  be 
tween  the  two,  was  moved  to  pity.  She  made  an 
involuntary  motion  to  prevent  his  going  further. 
But  Linora  was  not  disconcerted. 

"I  knew  you  wouldn't  like  me,"  she  said,  smil 
ing  kindly.  "  But  I  like  you,  though  you  are 
rather  more  pastoral  in  your  tastes  than  I  should 
choose  a  young  man  to  be."  While  Stephen  in 
lazy  interest,  and  Sarah  more  earnestly,  were 


250  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

looking  their  inquiries,  she  broke  forth  into  peals 
of  laughter. 

M I  have  a  vision  of  you,"  she  said,  when  she  had 
recovered  herself,  "  returning  to  the  home  of  your 
ancestors  ! " 

"  Linora,  —  Bernard,  what  does  this  mean  ?  " 
asked  Sarah,  looking  from  one  to  the  other.  Ber 
nard  sat  nervously  clenching  and  opening  his 
hands,  his  face  growing  every  instant  more  and 
more  flushed. 

"  After  you  are  fairly  domesticated,  you  take 
up  rural  pursuits,"  went  on  Linora.  "You  wear 
shepherd's  costume,  with  pink  and  blue  ribbons 
round  your  knees ;  and  you  strike  attitudes  all 
day  long,  playing  on  an  oaten  pipe.  Isn't  it 
an  oaten  pipe,  Mr.  Mann?"  Stephen  looked  at 
her  indulgently.  "  You  must  stand  cross-legged," 
continued  she,  in  solemn  reflection,  "one  toe  on 
the  ground.  You  will  lead  forth  the  flocks,  and 
the  feminine  portion  of  the  household  will  twine 
garlands  and  wreaths  about  their  horns.  I  also 
may  go  there  and  twine.  Sarah,  will  you  not 
twine  ?  " 

"Linora,  don't  be  absurd,"  said  Sarah,  watching 
Bernard  in  apprehension.  "Or,  if  you  must  make 
fun  of  anybody,  take  me." 

"  I  must  eulogize  Colin ;  indeed  I  must,"  went 
on  Linora,  turning  again  to  Bernard.  "  Colin,  you 
will  remember  the  blue  ribbons  —  and  a  largo  hat 


OUTSIDE    AND   IN.  251 

—  and  a  crook  ?  You'd  better  take  the  crook  down 
with  you." 

The  cold  sweat  had  broken  out  on  Bernard's 
face.  He  was  miserable  enough  at  finding  him 
self  the  butt  of  a  joke  ;  he  suffered  acutely  when 
the  jest  touched  a  wound.  Stephen,  glancing  at 
him,  forbore  to  smile. 

"  Has  your  uncle  left  town?  "  he  asked,  merci 
fully  changing  the  topic. 

"  On  the  contrary,  he  has  sent  for  his  trunks," 
returned  Linora,  lifting  her  brows  and  plaiting  a 
fold  of  her  dress.  "  I  think  —  I  should  object  to 
the  entire  area  of  Gath  becoming  acquainted 
with  the  suspicion,  but  I  really  think  — he  is  on 
the  brink  of  falling  in  love  with  Miss  Phebe." 
Stephen  was  evidently  willing  she  should  go  on, 
and  she  did  not  wait  for  encouragement.  "  I  intro 
duced  them  this  morning,  and  a  wonderful  com 
munity  of  feeling  already  exists  between  them ; 
that  is,  on  all  subjects  but  one.  You  couldn't 
expect  them  to  agree  in  their  estimate  of  me." 

"  No,  hardly,"  said  Stephen,  with  dry  frankness. 

"But  Uncle  Will  has  not  yet  confided  my 
idiosyncrasies  to  her.  I  extra«ted  a  promise 
from  him  to  that  effect.  On  condition  that  I  leave 
the  priest  to  rest  in  unhallowed  earth,  Miss  Phebe 
is  not  to  be  told  that  he  has  never  existed.  Is  it 
too  much  to  ask  you  all  to  refrain  from  confiding 
in  her?" 


252  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

The  request  was  put  in  an  off-hand,  incidental 
way,  and  she  apparently  took  the  answer  for 
granted. 

"I  like  Miss  Phebe,"  she  stated,  "just  as  I 
like  you,  Sarah,  though  not  as  much.  I  object  to 
losing  her  toleration.  And  with  all  this  hideous 
frankness  buzzing  about  the  air,  I  am  likely  to 
have  no  friends  left." 

"Don't  talk  about  it,"  said  Sarah,  longing  to 
help  her  into  a  clearer  atmosphere.  "Let  us  all 
forget  it,  Linora.  Life  is  too  good  and  too  short 
for  such  play." 

"Will you  forget  it?"  said  Linora,  looking  up 
in  what  seemed  earnest  gratitude.  But  her  glance 
took  in  Bernard  on  the  way,  and  her  demon  of 
absurdity  triumphed.  "  But  when  I  think  of 
Colin ! "  she  reiterated,  her  laughter  beginning 
afresh.  "Colin,  cross-legged,  and  piping  out  his 
distrust  of  me  to  the  vales  and  hills,  —  it  is  too 
much ! " 

As  it  had  previously  happened,  Bernard  was 
driven  from  the  field ;  he  literally  ran  away,  and 
Linora  followed,  uttering  some  indulgent  con 
demnation  of  her  own  hardness  of  heart.  Then 
Stephen  and  Sarah  could  but  exchange  glances  of 
puzzled  amusement.  Possibly  there  awoke  in 
Sarah  something  of  the  righteous  indignation  of 
the  reformer  who  finds  his  seed  scattered  by  the 
four  capricious  winds  of  heaven.  Since  Stephen 


OUTSIDE    AND   IN.  253 

had  told  her  that  he  had  hoped  good  would  spring 
from  her  influence  over  Linora,  she  had  felt 
bound  to  drag  the  girl  to  the  firm  ground  of 
truth.  And  lo !  her  first  weak  effort  had  ended 
in  laughter. 

"I  am  a  haunted  man,"  said  Bernard  to  himself 
that  night,  hurrying  to  his  lonely  room.  "  They 
must  be  right,  these  spiritualists.  Some  unclean 
devil  has  me  in  his  power." 

With  his  hand  on  the  key,  he  paused,  half  fear 
ing  to  enter.  What  might  he  not  find  there  ?  The 
bodily  presence  of  the  man  who  was  said  to  haunt 
him? 

• 

"  No  one  can  look  upon  a  spirit  and  live,"  he 
whispered.  "  My  time  for  seeing  may  have  come." 

He  threw  open  the  door,  and  took  one  wide, 
defiant  glance,  which  swept  the  room.  Nothing 
unusual  was  there,  though  the  dim  light  of  the 
lowered  gas  softened  all  outlines,  and  transformed 
the  common  furniture  into  a  menagerie  of  strange 
monsters.  He  turned  on  the  gas  to  a  full  blaze, 
and  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  Sitting  down  to  the 
brooding  which  now  occupied  half  his  time,  he 
chose  a  corner,  that  he  might  hold  the  entire  room 
under  survey.  Nothing  should  creep  behind  him. 
A  fear  was  gaining  upon  him,  day  by  day,  that 
the  mediums  might  be  right  in  calling  him  "  me- 
diumistic."  He  might  indeed  possess  this  horri 
ble  faculty;  it  might  develop  itself  in  spite  of 


254  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

him,  and,  at  some  moment,  a  vision  would  burst 
upon  him,  and  he  must  die  in  spasms  of  terror. 
His  sick  mind  had  still  the  power  of  reflection  ;  it 
reached  the  certain  conclusion  that  its  own  weak, 
shattered  condition  was  not  that  in  which  the 
supernatural  might  be  faced.  Threads  of  reverie 
on  the  unseen  and  the  material  braided  themselves 
in  and  out  within  his  mind.  Now  he  pictured  to 
himself  the  form  of  his  unseen  visitant,  who  nrght 
at  the  moment  be  lowering  at  him  from  some  cor 
ner.  Now  he  thought  of  Linora  with  a  pang  of 
disgust.  And  yet  she  was  not  so  much  to  be 
blamed  for  making  him  the  butt  of  her  scorn.  He 
was  sufficiently  ridiculous  to  furnish  food  for  laugh 
ter  to  both  gods  and  men. 

The  thought  of  Sarah  lay  upon  his  mind  like  the 
one  cool  drop  which  must  rather  aggravate  than 
allay  his  thirst  for  consolation.  It  borrowed  heat 
from  his  own  blood,  and  became  scalding.  She 
was  the  one  pure  thing  that  held  place  in  his  life, 
but  being  pure,  she  was  not  for  him.  Just  what 
he  would  have  chosen,  after  the  inconceivable 
good  of  her  love,  he  could  not  have  told.  Chiefly, 
perhaps,  to  be  in  some  manner,  and  through  her, 
less  lonely ;  to  feel  her  fingers  smooth  out  the 
knotted  lines  of  life,  her  sweet  breath  purify  the 
air  like  garden  pinks.  She  inevitably  suggested 
things  homelike,  sweet,  and  natural.  And  yet, 
while  he  acknowledged  his  need  of  the  loving 

o  o 


OUTSIDE   AND   IN.  255 

friendliness  she  had  for  him,  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  the  point  of  accepting  it. 

All  this  time  he  was  trying,  in  an  inert,  leaden 
fashion,  to  bring  himself  to  do  his  penance,  in  go 
ing  back  to  his  own  people. 

Another  night  came  when,  beside  himself  with 
loneliness  and  the  misery  of  dreams,  he  took  his 
way  to  Stephen's  street  and  number.  He  stopped 
outside  the  house,  arrested  by  two  figures  passing 
and  repassing  the  window  of  the  large  library. 
There  was  no  light  in  the  room  but  that  of  the 
fire ;  had  it  not  been  for  sharp-eyed  Envy  at  his 
side,  he  might  not  have  noticed  them.  He  would 
not  go  in.  They  wandered  up  and  down  their 
paradise  in  interchange  of  articulate  love.  He  had 
no  part  in  their  lot ;  no  one  could  have.  This 
was  the  greatest  miracle  and  paradox  of  creation, 
—  the  dual  unit  which  makes  its  own  complete 
ness.  He  ran  on,  almost  gnashing  his  teeth, 
striving  so  to  tire  his  body  that  it  might  lead  the 
mind  to  forgetfulness. 

The  two  people  within  were  altogether  happy, 
and  unconscious  of  possible  pain  elsewhere.  The 
glow  of  the  fire  was  red  in  the  room  where  they 
walked.  It  struck  out  red  from  hangings  and 
couches.  Sarah,  dressed  in  a  white  gown  of  some 
soft,  clinging  stuff,  gathered  a  rosy  flush  over  face 
and  drapery.  There  is,  perhaps,  nothing  more 
sweetly  absurd  than  the  fact  that  two  people,  dcs- 


256  FOOLS   OP  NATURE. 

tined  in  all  probability  to  spend  their  entire  life 
together,  should  steal  moments  and  hours  wherein 
to  talk  to  each  other  with  desperate  eagerness,  as 
if  eternal  separation  might,  at  any  instant,  over 
take  them.  These  two  were  laughing  over  it 
now. 

"  And  it  is  as  if  I  found  you  alone  for  only  five 
minutes,  and  a  duenna  might  be  lurking  behind 
the  Yenus  there,"  said  Stephen,  smiling  at  himself , 
and  caressing  her  hand.  "I  want  to  whisper;  I 
am  almost  at  the  point  of  begging  you  to  fly  with 
me." 

"And  I  shall,"  said  Sarah,  meeting  his  glance. 
"I  need  but  a  hint." 

His  face  contracted  with  the  sudden  pang  of  a 
remembered  pain. 

"  We  have  escaped  fiercer  dragons  than  any  the 
story-books  put  down,"  he  said.  "  Sweet  woman, 
I  could  not  have  escaped  alone." 

Part  of  her  loyalty  to  his  present  lay  in  helping 
him  to  forgetfulness  of  his  past.  That  was  pos 
sible,  since  he  had  no  morbid,  poetic  joy  in  remem 
brance. 

"  We  are  safely  away,  and  on  the  high  road  to 
paradise,"  she  said,  lightly.  "No,  Stephen,  how 
dare  I  forget  the  present?  We  are  not  on  any 
road ;  we  are  at  home." 

"  I  may  be  a  weak  fellow  to  say  that,  if  you  had 
come  earlier,  my  life  might  have  been  something 


OUTSIDE    AND   IN.  257 

of  itself.  I  ought  to  have  been  able  to  live  down 
discouragement  alone,  but  I  wasn't." 

"You  have  always  kept  yourself  head  and  shoul 
ders  above  common  things,"  she  said,  steadily, 
"always." 

"  If  it  had  been  any  other  sort  of  thing,  I  might 
perhaps  have  lived  it  down.  If  I  could  have 
fought  it  I  but  it  crept  over  me  like  a  mildew.  I 
couldn't  breathe  through  remembering  how  base 
I  had  made  my  life.  Sarah,  sometimes  I  can't 
breathe  now  ! " 

It  was  true  that,  the  more  radiant  became  his 
joy,  the  more  did  it  seem  to  illuminate  the  stains 
gathered  in  the  slough  where  he  had  lain  faint 
hearted.  Plis  wife  seemed  to  awaken  in  him  a 
peculiar  worship.  He  did  not  merely  thank  God 
for  the  gift  of  a  good  woman ;  he  regarded  her  with 
a  species  of  awe,  and  was  conscious  of  a  half-super 
stitious  feeling  that  she  had  entrance  to  high  regions 
inaccessible  to  him.  The  belief  gave  birth  to  a 
jealous  idolatry.  He  feared  denial  of  admission 
to  the  least  of  her  meditations.  He  felt  the  neces 
sity  of  purifying  himself  sufficiently  to  live  with 
this  virgin  mind. 

"You  are  on  your  knees  too  much  before  me," 
she  said,  that  night,  between  earnest  and  lightness. 
"I  am  so  happy,  —  oh,  a  woman  loves  to  play  the 
queen  !  —  but  you  are  there  because  you  think  I 
am  good,  and  I  am  not."  They  had  passed  into 


258  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

the  circle  of  fire-light  where  her  face  was  more 
clearly  visible. 

"I  worship  you  as  the  symbol  of  all  woman 
hood,"  said  her  husband. 

"Not  that,  Stephen,"  she  said,  her  own  voice 
vibrating  as  she  put  both  her  hands  on  his  shoul 
ders  and  looked  at  him.  "I  am  not  worth  that. 
Do  as  I  do,  and  worship  the  Love  instead.  I 
think  of  it  as  a  great  white-winged  creature  above 
us,  —  noble,  majestic,  who  must  not  be  offended 
by  anything  ignoble  in  us." 

He  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  again  their  talk 
went  on  in  a  corner  of  their  fireside.  Safe,  shield 
ed,  their  bliss  assured  from  all  calamity  but  that 
of  death,  they  could  map  out  the  happy  years  in 
dreams,  —  years  that  were  gently  to  soothe  this 
ecstasy  of  loving  into  a  calm  delight  of  growth 
together. 


CHAPTER 

A   FLAW. 

HPHE  next  day,  Stephen  was  going  out  of  town 
-*-  on  business,  and  Sarah  walked  to  the  station 
with  him.  There  had  hitherto  been  no  partings 
for  them,  and  she  was  laughingly  bemoaning  her 
self  at  the  prospect  of  saying  good-by.  They 
laughed  at  themselves  and  at  the  world  in  general 
a  great  deal,  in  those  days.  There  is  something 
rarely  childlike  in  pure  human  joy. 

The  spring  was  coming,  and  they  had  the  summer 
to  dispose  of,  in  anticipation. 

"  You  have  had  no  mountains  yet,"  Stephen  was 
saying  as  they  waited  at  a  crossing.  "I  —  good 
God ! "  he  exclaimed,  under  his  breath.  Sarah 
turned  to  him,  startled.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on 
a  woman  standing  near  them,  whose  glance  inci 
dentally  met  his  at  the  same  moment. 

"What  is,  it  Stephen?"  whispered  his  wife. 

"  Don't !  "  he  answered,  hoarsely.     "  Come  ! " 

He  hurried  her  across  the  street  and  into  the 
station,  dropped  her  arm  when  they  were  once  in 
side,  and  drew  the  long  breath  of  a  man  unnerved. 
An  inspiration  of  knowledge  struck  his  wife  like  a 
throb  of  pain. 

2S0 


260  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

"Stephen,  is  it  —  the  woman?"  she  whispered. 

A  dull  flush  branded  his  face.  He  turned  to 
her  with  the  dogged  obstinacy  of  one  forcing  his 
unwilling  eyes  to  meet  an  accusation. 

"Yes."  He  saw  in  her  the  instant  almost  im 
perceptible  yielding  of  the  frame,  —  its  cowering 
under  a  blow.  "  Let  us  go  home.  Only  have 
courage  till  we  get  there  !  "  he  said.  But  she  had 
gathered  herself  for  action. 

"No,  of  course  not.  Why  should  we  change 
our  plans?  Nothing  has  happened."  She  smiled 
up  at  him.  The  glance  brought  a  sob  to  his  throat. 

"  Heaven  bless  the  brave  brown  eyes  !  "  he  said. 
But  he  ran  back  as  she  was  turning  to  leave  him,  to 
say  again,  "  Let  me  stay  with  you." 

"No,"  she  answered,  still  smiling.  "There  is 
no  need.  I  am  not  foolish ;  believe  in  me,  and 

go." 

She  hastened  out  at  another  door,  her  head 
bent,  her  eyes  on  the  ground.  She  was  possessed 
by  a  sickening  fear  of  again  meeting  the  woman. 
Nothing  had  happened.  Ah,  but  something  had, 
and  she  was  hurrying  home  to  meet  it  alone. 
She  tried  not  to  think  until  she  was  locked  in  her 
own  room,  with  the  time  before  her  to  scan  and 
lay  her  ghost,  if  it  could  be  laid.  For  a  while 
she  sat  silently  listening  to  an  insistent  voice. 
Then  she  spoke  aloud  the  words  that  were  beating 
themselves  into  her  throbbing  brain. 


A   FLAW.  261 

"I  have  been  mistaken,"  she  said,  clearly,  look 
ing  up  and  speaking  to  the  four  walls.  "  We  had 
no  right  to  marry.  It  was  a  lie ;  my  mother  did 
not  speak  through  that  man." 

To  have  grown  up  with  an  ideal  of  right,  to 
have  been  led  away  from  it  by  what  seemed  wiser 
intuitions,  and  to  behold  then  the  forsaken  goddess 
stretching  out  reproachful  arms,  - —  this  was  what 
had  happened  to  her. 

Could  one  go  back  to  forsaken  aspirations  with 
out  as  much  pain  as  joy  —  the  joy  of  possession 
pierced  by  the  vibrating  chord  of  repentance  at 
having  once  renounced  them?  And  with  noble 
souls,  what  second  fickleness  would  be  possible? 
All  that  day  there  rang  in  her  heart  the  reiteration 
of  the  certainty  that  she  could  not  change  again, 
however  she  might  long  to  do  so.  She  had  been 
right  at  first,  and  had  fallen  from  a  just  decision 
through  what  she  had  felt  to  be  divine  counsel. 
She  had  placed  herself  under  the  new  laws  of  an 
unfamiliar  world  of  love.  What  was  to  be  done? 

The  sin  of  a  wrong  decision  had  been  committed, 
and,  bitterly  as  she  might  repent,  repentance  would 
not  suffice.  The  past  could  not  be  retraced,  but 
there  must  be  some  steep  and  thorny  by-path  lead 
ing  to  the  one  she  should  never  have  left.  She 
laid  her  finger  on  this  one  day  of  her  life,  saying, 
"It  ends  here." 

In  these  first  moments,  the  one  right  assumed 


262  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

such  gigantic  proportions,  that  she  scarcely  thought 
of  the  pain  involved  in  serving  it.  Stephen  and 
she  had  been  bitterly  unfortunate  ;  their  love  had 
led  them  towards  what  seemed  the  most  beautiful, 
but  which  was  not,  in  this  one  case,  the  most  true. 
They  were  mistaken ;  they  would  retrieve  their 
mistake.  So  long  as  the  question  bore  only  an 
abstract  significance,  she  thought  entirely  of  the 
end,  overlooking  the  common,  heart-sickening 
means  to  be  traversed.  It  was  a  trifling  incident 
that  recalled  her  to  the  sight  of  the'  rack,  from 
dreamy  contemplation  of  the  heights  to  which  it 
must  lead.  At  twilight,  she  went  to  the  mirror 
to  put  her  hair  in  order ;  a  rose  in  a  glass  caught 
her  eye.  Stephen  had  put  it  there  with  a  lover's 
foolish  care,  that  she  might  pin  it  at  her  throat  in 
the  morning,  when  he  should  not  be  by  to  do  it. 
She  held  her  hand  over  the  petals,  not  touching 
them,  a  slow  horror  gathering  in  her  eyes. 
"  To  give  up  this  ?  "  she  said  aloud.  "  This,  all !  " 
Her  glance  had  flashed  rapidly  about  the  room, 
furnished  with  a  hundred  thoughts  of  her.  She 
had  been  right  in  telling  Bernard  that  these  were  the 
symbols  of  married  love.  There  had  been  a  time 
when  she  could  have  parted  from  her  lover,  feel 
ing  only  the  pain  of  loss.  She  might  now  as  well 
think  of  tearing  limb  from  limb,  expecting  still  to 
live,  as  to  give  up  the  sweet  habit  of  dual  exist 
ence. 


A    FLAW.  263 

The  night  passed,  and  he  came.  They  con 
fronted  each  other  like  two  ghosts  held  asunder 
by  an  irrevocable  decree.  When  he  entered, 
Stephen  had  made  an  eager,  involuntary  move 
ment  towards  her,  but  he  was  not  surprised  that 
she  only  smiled  at  him.  lie  had  expected  to  find 
distance  between  them  at  first. 

"  Well  ?"  he  said,  regarding  her  hopelessly.  She 
had  meant  to  take  the  burden  of  decision  on  her 
self.  Now  that  the  time  had  come,  her  dry  lips 
refused  their  task. 

"I  couldn't  help  it,  you  know,"  he  went  on. 
"  If  I  could,  I  would  put  you  under  another  heaven, 
but  I  can't  deny  the  earth  to  the  creatures  born 
on  it." 

Then  she  found  her  breath.  "  My  darling,  do 
you  think  I  could  blame  you?  —  do  anything  but 
love  you  —  pity  —  die  for  you  ?  "  she  said,  going 
up  to  him,  her  eyes  all  eloquence,  regardless  of 
the  endearments  she  had  promised  herself  to  use 
no  more. 

Stephen's  face  quivered.  He  could  have  gone 
on  his  knees  to  her  in  pure  gratitude.  But  her 
next  words  roused  him. 

"  Whatever  we  decide,  you  will  remember  that 
I  did  not  change,  that  I  loved  you,  and  found  you 
worthy  any  woman's  love." 

He  regarded  her  in  breathless  amazement. 


264  FOOLS   OP  NATURE. 

"  Decide  ?  What  is  there  to  decide  ?  That  was 
done  once  for  all." 

"No,"  she  said,  not  daring  to  look  at  him.  "I 
was  wrong  then.  You  must  help  me  to  be  right 
now." 

He  was  silent  so  long  that  she  turned  to  him  in 
fear.  His  face  showed  only  a  great  weariness. 

"  I  thought  that  ghost  was  laid,"  he  said,  in  a 
low  voice,  turning  to  walk  up  the  room.  "It 
seems  ghosts  never  are.  Well,  what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

"  Our  marriage  was  no  marriage.  I  am  not 
your  wife.  We  must  live  accordingly  —  apart." 

He  turned  upon  her  with  a  power  of  passion 
that  made  her  shrink. 

"  Not  my  wife  !  "  he  cried,  holding  her  before 
him  and  forcing  her  eyes  to  meet  his.  "  Do  you 
dare  say  that  ?  Think  what  we  two  have  been  to 
each  other;  think  of  the  life  we  have  led  here, 
and  then  call  it  no  marriage  !  " 

Her  heart  rose  to  the  level  of  his  passion,  ready 
to  join  its  flood  with  that  torrent,  but  the  pale 
ghost  of  the  ideal  did  not  flinch.  There,  it  must 
be  obeyed. 

"  If  our  marriage  is  a  true  one,  it  ought  to  stand 
every  test,"  she  said.  "  It  cannot  stand  the  test 
of  my  meeting  that  woman." 

He  left  her  again  and  walked  to  the  window. 
When  he  came  back,  it  was  after  reflection,  and  his 
tone  was  gentler. 


A    FLAW.  265 

"  I  want  to  say  one  thing.  It  will  sound  hor 
ribly.  May  it  not  be  —  the  feeling  you  evidently 
have — the  inevitable  disgust,  shame,  that  I  my 
self  feel?" 

"No,"  she  said,  steadily.  "  I  have  thought  of 
that.  It  is  not  jealousy.  I  \vish  it  were.  It  is 
seeing  in  her  the  law  I  have  broken." 

Stephen  sat  down  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
had  abandoned  hope. 

"  Then  I  give  it  up,"  he  said.  "  There  seems 
to  be  no  outlet." 

"  If  I  could  think  I  had  decided  through  my 
own  free  will,"  she  broke  forth,  in  irrepressible 
disgust  at  the  manner  of  her  former  change,  "I 
could  bear  it.  But  I  was  juggled  with.  I  took  a 
medium's  misty  commonplaces  for  a  message  from 
my  mother.  I  thought  that  supernatural  wisdom 
was  setting  me  above  law.  I  hate  myself  for  my 
weakness.  You  should  hate  me,  too." 

He  made  no  answer.  He  was  scarcely  thinking 
of  her.  So  the  years  he  had  cast  behind  him  were 
to  repeat  themselves  !  The  shining  fabric  of  this 
beautiful  dream  was  ruined  forever. 

"  It's  of  no  use  to  tell  you  how  much  I  would 
sacrifice  to  have  saved  you,"  he  said,  at  last.  "  We 
must  go  on  as  we  can.  When  you  repent,  try  to 
think  what  it  has  done  for  me.  Your  error  —  if 
it  is  error  —  has  made  me  very  happy." 

"  But,  Stephen,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  that  feared 


266  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

itself  and  shrunk  back,  "  we  must  not  go  on  to 
gether." 

Mastery  flashed  up  in  him  again. 

"  Yes,  by  the  God  that  made  me !  "  he  cried, 
his  voice  ringing  like  that  of  a  conquering  host, 
"you  are  mine!  I  suppose  they  can  kill  you, 
these  higher  powers,  but  as  long  as  I  am  a  man 
with  my  breath  and  senses,  they  shall  take  you  in 
no  other  way.  Let  me  see  the  being  that  dares 
to  tell  me  you  are  not  mine  !  Every  law  in  nature 
declares  it.  If  it  is  true  that  you  do  not  belong 
to  me,  let  the  old  universe  rock  —  for  God  denies 
his  own  law,  and  chaos  will  come  next !  " 

With  all  her  senses  fighting  on  his  side,  she,  a 
speck  in  that  whirlwind  of  struggling  atoms,  clung 
to  her  one  conviction. 

"  I  do  not  belong  to  you.  We  both  belong  to 
the  law." 

He  turned  from  her  and  left  the  room.  She 
heard  him  pacing  the  next  floor,  and  knew  he 
would  return,  winged  with  persuasion.  She  sank 
on  her  face  upon  the  pillows,  great  floods  of  tears 
coming.  They  were  all  for  him.  She  was  his 
wife,  not  an  imperious  mistress  who  might  accept 
or  reject  at  will,  but  the  woman  who  had  cherished 
him  as  tenderly  as  mothers  soothe  and  nourish  their 
children.  She  was  even  willing  that  he  should 
storm  her  with  arguments.  She  felt  an  infinite 
patience  with  his  rebellion,  growing  out  of  an  in- 


A   FLAW.  267 

finite  pity  for  his  sorrow.  She  would  answer  him 
as  fully  as  he  chose  to  ask ;  he  should  know  all 
her  reasons  as  she  knew  them.  But  this  time  she 
was  sure  she  should  not  yield. 

In  the  next  room,  Stephen  was  fighting  out  his 
battle  alone,  conscious  only  of  placing  himself  in 
defiant  antagonism  to  the  powers  that  warred 
against  him.  One  rage  of  resistance  possessed 
him  ;  an  angry  madness  against  the  world.  Sud 
denly  there  swept  upon  him,  like  a  soft  pall  cover 
ing  the  corpse  of  noisome  passions,  the  old  sense 
of  sweet  worship  for  his  wife.  His  belief  in  her 
goodness  attacked  him  with  such  melting  force  that 
he  could  have  wept  himself  into  childishness. 
Sometimes  he  had  thought,  in  these  throes  of  ec 
static  woman-worship,  "  to  be  her  child,  her  dog,  if 
one  could  be  no  more  !  Anything  to  be  near  her ! " 

Remembering  that,  he  would  not  resist.  The 
better  part  of  her  nature  demanded  some  sacrifice 
which  he  could  not,  of  his  own  accord,  give.  He 
would  have  left  the  altar  bare,  hiding  his  one 
lamb  in  his  breast,  though  the  gods  had  thundered 
for  a  victim ;  but  if  she  chose  to  place  herself 
thereon,  he  would  see  that  she  died  painlessly. 
With  this  mood  upon  him,  he  went  back  to  her. 
She  had  wept  herself  tired,  and  lifted  a  wet  but 
very  patient  face.  He  knelt  by  her  couch,  and 
her  tears  started  afresh  when  she  saw  his  eyes, 
like  dumb  things  pleading  for  pity. 


268  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

"I  haven't  cared  for  some  things  you  care  for," 
he  began,  hoarsely,  making  sudden  pauses  between 
the  words.  "  I  am  contented  to  live  along  and  be 
happy.  Your  nature  is  so  high  that  your  happi 
ness  lies  in  renunciation.  I  can't  bring  myself  up 
to  your  level,  but  there  is  one  way  in  which  I 
won't  fail  you  ;  you  shall  choose  your  right,  and  I 
will  help  you  do  it." 

She  could  only  kiss  his  hand  again  and  again ; 
but  he  went  on,  to  make  sure  of  finishing  while 
he  could. 

"  I  must  take  care  of  you ;  nobody  can  deny  me 
that.  The  first  thing  is  to  rest  the  dear  body  ;  so 
you  will  promise  me  to  go  now  and  try  to  sleep  ? 
In  the  morning  we  can  talk  again." 

She  rose  obediently.  Turning  when  she  had 
reached  the  door,  she  hastened  back. 

"  If  you  could  forgive  — " 

"  Look  at  me  !  "  he  said.  She  raised  her  eyes,  to 
find  his  face  lighted  with  a  great  love.  "  There  is 
no  such  word  possible  between  us,"  he  went  on, 
firmly  and  slowly.  She  must  remember  it,  to  be 
less  unhappy.  "  You  have  given  me  such  immor 
tal  happiness  that  I  am  willing  to  pay  for  it  by 
going  to  hell !  And  you  shall  have  made  it  possi 
ble  for  me  not  to  drag  you  down  an  inch.  I  swear 
that." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

IN  EXILE. 

HPHE  two  met  for  days  in  a  constrained  kindli 
ness  which,  in  contrast  with  remembered 
hours,  had  about  it  some  thing  of  horror.  Stephen 
was  waiting,  his  wife  felt,  for  some  further  word 
from  her.  His  compliance  with  her  decision  had 
thrown  the  burden  of  responsibility  upon  her,  but 
she  was  not  doubtful  as  to  her  course. 

"  Stephen,"  she  said,  at  length,  "you  will  let  me 
go  wherever  I  think  best?" 

"Yes." 

"  It  may  seem  romantic,  but  I  should  like  to  go 
to  the  house  of  that  old  man  down  in  the  country ; 
the  one  I  met  and  liked.  I  fancied  I  saw  in  him 
something  very  good,  almost  holy." 

"  Anywhere  you  like,"  he  said,  with  the  same 
forced  kindliness  which  pained  her  so  much.  If 
it  had  concealed  impatience,  disapproval,  she  could 
have  taken  it  with  gratitude.  Instead,  it  covered 
an  ocean  of  waiting  love  for  whose  expression  she 
was  athirst. 

"  Then  I  will  write  and  find  out  about  it,"  she 
went  on,  half  timidly. 

"  No,  let  me  do  all  that.     Take  no  trouble.    And 


270  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

shall  I  say  you  intend  staying  any  given  length  of 
time?" 

"No,  I  may  not  want  to  stay ;  and  I  can't  tell 
now  where  I  may  want  to  go  next." 

"  Except  that  you  won't  come  back  to  me  !  " 

The  next  day  he  was  away,  and  came  back  late 
in  the  evening. 

"  I  have  been  down  there  —  Coventry,"  he  said, 
as  soon  as  he  had  thrown  himself  into  a  chair  by 
the  fire.  "I  liked  the  old  man,  too.  They  will 
take  you." 

"You  went,  Stephen?  There  was  no  need  of  so 
much  trouble  ;  you  might  have  written." 

"Yes,  but  of  course  I  couldn't  send  you  to  a 
place  without  first  knowing  about  it.  Then  I 
wanted  to  see  it,  to  think  of  you  there." 

His  face  contracted  painfully,  and  he  passed  his 
hand  over  it.  Sarah  held  herself  silent,  by  the 
greatest  effort  she  was  capable  of  making.  How 
often  in  this  miserable  time  had  she  been  drawn 
to  throw  herself  into  his  arms,  and  heal  his  wounds 
by  the  flood  of  the  tenderness  that  possessed  her  ! 
For  the  next  few  days  she  saw  him  but  seldom. 
He  could  not  trust  himself  to  be  near  her,  but 
often  when  she  supposed  him  to  be  away  he  was 
in  the  next  room  listening  for  her  footsteps,  feel 
ing  her  presence  in  a  dumb  anguish,  with  dull  pre 
sentiment  of  the  loss  that  would  settle  upon  him 
when  she  should  indeed  be  gone. 


IN    EXILE.  271 

Bernard  had  not  been  heard  from,  and  she  had 
no  wish  to  see  him.  She  would  write  him  a  note 
before  she  left,  saying  that  she  was  not  well  and 
needed  change.  If  she  should  see  him  again,  his 
quick  eyes  might  detect  more  than  ill-health  in  the 
alteration  she  felt  sure  must  be  wrought  in  her. 
Once  only  did  Stephen  break  through  his  resolve 
of  unquestioning  loyalty  to  her  decision.  On  their 
last  morning  together,  at  the  very  instant  before 
they  set  out  for  the  station,  he  caught  her  look. 
It  was  as  if  each  suffering  soul  saw  itself  reflected 
in  the  other  face. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  are  not  making  a  mistake  ?  " 
he  said,  hoarsely.  "  It  is  a  good  deal  to  do  for 
an  abstract  sort  of  sacrifice." 

His  arms  and  her  home  lay  before  her  on  one 
side  ;  on  the  other,  barren  days  among  strangers. 
Still  there  was  no  doubt,  and  she  shook  her  head. 

"  I  have  told  them  at  Coventry  that  you  have 
had  trouble  and  need  rest,"  he  said,  as  he  left  her. 
"  And  you  promise  to  write  if  you  are  ill,  or  if  you 
need  me  ?  You  couldn't  deny  me  that." 

She  promised,  and  they  looked  at  each  other  no 
more.  It  was  easiest  to  part  in  haste. 

When  she  reached  Coventry,  Uncle  Ben  had  been 
waiting  for  her  half  an  hour,  patiently  sitting  in 
the  old  sleigh  and  discussing  spiritualism  with  a 
sceptic.  There  was  something  Socratic  in  his 
longing  to  turn  market-place  and  hall  into  sympo- 


272  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

sia ;  he  had,  moreover,  the  rare  faculty  of  issuing 
with  undisturbed  serenity  from  debates  wherein 
his  dear  belief  had  been  scoffingly  received. 

"It's  the  works  of  the  devil,  I  tell  you  !  "  shout 
ed  his  opponent,  hurling  his  last  arrow  as  the 
train  came  in,  and  winking  at  the  bystanders. 
"The  works  of  the  devil,  an'  nothin'  else." 

"  Well,  well !  "  said  Uncle  Ben,  smiling,  "  then  I 
must  be  one  of  the  devil's  followers  ;  an'  as  long  as 
there  ain't  anybody  but  what's  got  some  good  in 
him,  perhaps  he  won't  lead  an  old  man  fur  out  o' 
the  way. —  I  guess  it's  you,  as  long  as  there  ain't 
no  other  passenger,"  he  said,  walking  up  to  Sarah 
and  offering  his  hand.  "  Come  right  along.  I'll 
take  your  bag,  an'  Sam  —  he's  comin'  up  from  the 
ma'sh  byme-by  —  he'll  take  your  trunk  on  his 
sled." 

Sarah  cast  a  quick  glance  at  the  landscape,  as 
soon  as  they  had  turned  away  from  the  dingy 
little  station.  A  country  of  bare  trees  and  un 
clean,  melting  snow.  The  trickling  of  water  here 
and  there  from  little  runnels  by  the  side  of  the 
road  sang  the  tinkling  prelude  to  the  spring 
song. 

"  Seems  queer  to  have  you  down  here,"  began 
Uncle  Ben,  when  they  were  on  the  straight  road. 
"  I  never  thought  o'  seein'  you  ag'in  till  we  got 
over  on  the  other  side,  after  that  day  in  the  city. 
But  (hen  you  never  can  tell  how  things  are  goin' 


IN    EXILE.  273 

to  come  round.  Perhaps  you've  seen  Lenny 
lately." 

"Lenny?" 

"  Now  it's  no  wonder,"  laughed  the  old  man. 
"  We've  al'ays  called  him  so.  He's  our  little  boy, 
you  know,  an'  I  s'pose  he  al'ays  will  be.  Pro 
fessor  Leonard,  you  know,  test  medium,"  with 
the  air  of  reading  the  sign,  and  that  with  great 
relish. 

"No,  I  have  not  been  there  for  a  long  time," 
said  Sarah,  the  mention  of  the  name  bringing  back 
her  sickness  of  heart. 

"An'  have  you  got  any  new  light?"  said  the 
old  man,  earnestly.  "  Somehow  I  expect  the  new 
lights  are  comin'  from  you  young  folks.  Likely 
you're  nearer  the  kingdom  of  heaven  than  some 
of  us." 

"  No,  no  light  anywhere."  After  their  utterance, 
she  felt  that  the  words  must  have  sounded  like  a 
cry.  The  old  man  answered  them  gently  and  pa 
tiently. 

"  Sometimes  you  have  to  wait  a  great  many 
years.  Little  as  I  know,  I  can  tell  you  that." 

Maria  was  at  the  door  when  they  drove  up, 
starched  of  dress  and  very  stiff  of  collar,  but 
evidently  in  some  trepidation.  "When  she  had 
fairly  seen  Sarah's  face,  she  uttered  a  fervent 
"  Lord  be  praised  !  "  The  ejaculation  was  explained 
later,  while  she  was,  as  she  would  have  said, 


274  FOOLS  OF  NATURE. 

"flyin*  round,"  making  the  last  preparations  for 
tea,  and  Sarah  sat  by  the  window  watching  her. 

"Ever  since  pa  said  he'd  take  you,"  said  Maria, 
cutting  a  pie  with  dexterous  little  strokes,  "  ever 
since,  I've  had  sort  of  a  sickening  feeling  for  fear 
'twas  the  other  one." 

"  The  other  one  ?  " 

"  The  one  that  come  with  you  that  day  to  Lenny's. 
And  if  she's  your  own  flesh  and  blood,  I  should 
say  the  same  —  I  couldn't  abide  her."  She  com 
pressed  her  lips,  evidently  challenging  reproval  of 
her  defiant  honesty.  But  Sarah  laughed. 

"You  mean  Miss  Gale.  Many  people  like  her, 
but  I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  liking  me 
better." 

"Pa  took  a  fancy  to  you,  too,"  went  on  Maria, 
setting  the  last  chair  in  place  at  the  table.  w  That's 
how  we  happened  to  tell  your  husband  we'd  under 
take  it.  Not  but  what  we  both  wanted  you,"  she 
added,  hastily,  "  but  I  never  took  a  boarder  in  my 
life,  and  I'm  going  to  say  it  beforehand  so't  you 
can  put  up  with  our  ways.  Pa  likes  young  folks, 
and  you  must  cheer  him  up.  I  ain't  so  chipper  as 
I  used  to  be." 

Through  the  tea-time  Uncle  Ben  kept  up  his 
soliloquizing  reflections,  chiefly  o»  spiritualism  and 
the  other  life.  Sarah  noticed  that  his  thoughts 
seemed  to  tend  irresistibly  towards  some  centre  out 
side  mundane  affairs.  And  yet,  constantly  as  he 


IN   EXILE.  275 

harped  upon  his  one  string,  the  tune  was  not  weari 
some  ;  possibly  because  he  never  insisted  upon  an 
answer,  and  never  attempted  to  convince.  He 
seemed  to  be  holding  the  shell  to  his  own  ear, 
smiling  to  himself  at  its  song  of  eternity. 

When  he  had  gone  out  after  tea,  Maria  stationed 
herself  before  Sarah  and  transfixed  her  with  keen 
eyes. 

"Do  you  believe  in  it?"  she  asked,  abruptly. 

"  Spiritualism  ?     No,  I  think  not." 

"  Thank  the  Lord  again  !  If  there  was  only  one 
spiritualist  in  the  world,  and  that  was  pa,  I  could 
get  along  well  enough.  But  the  rest  of  'em  make 
me  sick." 

Sarah  smiled  at  her  in  understanding.  Her  ex 
treme  shrewdness  and  honesty  were  refreshing. 

"  You  needn't  be  afraid,"  she  said,  still  smiling. 
"I  shan't  try  to  convert  you,  and  I'm  enough  in 
terested  in  it  not  to  offend  your  father." 

When  Sarah  went  to  her  own  room,  she  started 
with  a  low  cry.  In  contrast  with  the  rest  of  the 
old  house,  it  was  a  princess'  bower.  Books  were 
there,  the  pictures  she  loved  most,  the  red  hang 
ings  that  suited  her  fancy,  and  the  fragrance  of 
fresh  flowers  —  her  red  roses  and  spicy  pinks. 
How  he  had  brought  it  all  about  in  so  short  a 
time  she  could  not  guess.  She  remembered  that, 
as  he  had  once  before  in  separation  planned  the 
home  he  meant  to  offer  her,  so  now  his  pain  had 


276  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

been  lessened  by  serving  her.  She  wandered 
about  the  room  until  late,  touching  one  thing  after 
another.  Here  was  almost  his  visible  presence. 
She  was  indeed  less  unhappy  than  the  morning  had 
found  her.  The  strangeness  of  the  place,  with  these 
reminders  of  his  care  over  her,  suggested  the  fact 
of  a  temporary  separation.  And  as  an  absence  of 
years  would  have  seemed  slight,  if  she  might  go 
back  to  him  at  last,  she  comforted  herself  with  the 
delusion,  and  slept. 

Aunt  Lomie  came  in  the  very  next  morning, 
ostensibly  to  bring  the  week's  "  County  Times ;  "  in 
reality  to  see  the  new-comer.  She  had  a  mild 
curiosity  as  to  the  person  Maria  had  been  willing 
to  receive  into  the  family.  Her  sense  of  awe 
vanished,  however,  when  she  found  Sarah  to  be  a 
girlish  creature  with  short  hair,  "  sittin'  round  doin' 
nothin'  in  particular,"  as  she  reported  to  the  two 
boys. 

"  We  should  like  to  have  you  come  in  an'  be 
neighborly,  if  you  feel  to,"  she  said,  with  her  air 
of  prim  courtesy,  instantly  suggesting  the  day  of 
busks. 

The  boys,  Aunt  Lomie  privately  told  Maria,  had 
indicated  their  purpose  of  "  fightin'  shy "  of  the 
house  so  long  as  the  stranger  should  remain  in  it. 

In  the  following  days,  Maria  more  than  once 
caught  herself  wondering  how  she  had  ever  dared 
try  the  experiment  of  admitting  a  stranger  within 


IN    EXILE.  277 

her  kingdom.  That  pa  had  been  inclined  to  do 
so,  furnished  a  strong  argument,  but  the  course 
seemed  in  itself  almost  beyond  reason.  She  had 
also  agreed  that  a  woman  might  come  in  on  certain 
days  of  the  week  to  help  with  the  hard  work,  — 
she  who  had  once  religiously  reserved  her  rights 
of  doing  with  her  own  hands  every  part  of  the 
housekeeping. 

"  I  wouldn't  have  believed  any  body 'd  be  so  little 
under  foot,"  she  said  one  day,  when  Sarah  was 
slicing  applies  for  pies,  "  nor  that  I'd  have  any 
body  touching  a  dish  round  the  house.  But  here 
we  are  I  " 

"  Here  we  are,  indeed,"  repeated  Sarah,  looking 
up  in  quiet  triumph.  "But  it's  pure  charity  in 
you.  How  can  you  let  me  meddle,  when  I  do 
things  wrong  so  many  times  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Maria,  with  uncom 
promising  candor.  "Maybe  it's  because  you're 
willing.  But  that  don't  make  it  clear  how  I  can 
let  you  do  housework,  and  take  your  money  for 
board." 

"I'm  an  apprentice,"  said  Sarah,  soberly. 
"  When  I  graduate,  perhaps  you'll  give  me  wages." 

There  was  something  ideal  and  charming  in  the 
homely  work  about  the  old  house.  Everything 
was  so  exquisitely  clean,  Maria  herself  was  always 
so  starched  and  immaculate  !  There  was  even  a 
delicious  flavor  about  the  sweeping  and  dusting. 


278  FOOLS  OP  NATURE. 

"  It  is  more  than  clean,"  said  Sarah,  as  she  stood 
by  the  hearth  after  the  final  setting  to  rights  of  a 
washing  day.  "  I  can  smell  and  taste  it.** 

w  What  ?  "  asked  Maria,  practically. 

w  It — the  flavor  —  the  essence  of  the  honse,  and 
the  cooking,  and  the  sweet  country  life."  And 
they  laughed  together. 

As  time  went  on,  Aunt  Lomie  often  came  for  an 
afternoon,  with  her  knitting  carefully  rolled  in  a 
gingham  kerchief.  Sarah  used  to  watch  her  as 
she  made  ready  for  work,  to  see  if  she  ever  devi 
ated  by  the  hair's  breadth  of  a  gesture  from  one 
established  programme.  It  never  happened.  She 
sat  bolt-upright  in  the  straightest  chair  to  be  found, 
unrolled  the  kerchief,  pinned  on  a  knitting-sheath, 
stuck  the  needle  in  the  quill,  and  cast  the  yarn  over 
her  little  finger.  Such  trifles  made  Sarah's  daily 
food ;  her  study  even  of  still  life  had  become  mi 
nute.  Aunt  Lomie  had  therefore  assumed  place 
in  her  mind,  but  the  boys  remained  unknown 
factors.  She  saw  them  pass  with  their  oxen,  or 
alone,  giants  in  stature  and  stentorian  of  voice, 
but  they  had  not  ventured  within  possibility  of 
meeting  her.  One  day,  however,  she  ran  away. 
She  had  had  a  longing  to  take  the  cart-path  that 
wound  round  the  barn  and  over  the  hill  to  the 
woods,  but  Maria  had  laughed  at  her.  Surely 
there  was  something  to  be  found  in  the  woods, 
even  in  so  early  a  spring ! 


IN    EXILE.  279 

"Slush!"  said  Maria,  sententiously.  "And 
there's  plenty  of  that  out  the  back  door." 

So,  saying  nothing  of  her  purpose,  on  this  day 
she  essayed  the  path  where  there  lay  the  least 
possible  snow  and  the  deepest  ponds  of  water 
compatible  with  a  roadway.  Half  way  up  the 
hill,  she  heard  the  laborious  tramp  of  oxen  behind 
her,  with  Sam's  step  regardless  of  the  water,  and 
his  bold  "  Gee,  Bright !  "  She  stepped  to  the  ex 
treme  edge  of  the  path  and  waited  for  them  to  pass. 
She  had  thrown  back  her  jacket,  and  her  cheeks 
were  pink  from  the  moist,  warm  wind,  her  lips 
parted  by  exertion.  Even  Sam,  with  his  bashful 
half  glance,  took  in  her  bright  freshness. 

"  Ride  ?  "  he  called,  not  stopping  the  oxen,  but 
ready  with  uplifted  goad  if  she  should  assent. 

"Yes,  indeed!"  came  the  fresh  young  voice, 
much  to  Sam's  surprise.  Henry,  sitting  on  the 
sled  and  dangling  his  feet,  cast  a  reproachful 
glance  at  his  brother  before  helping  her  on.  But 
the  deed  was  done,  and  the  gee-hawing  went  on, 
Sam  slyly  congratulating  himself  on  having  chosen 
to  drive.  Henry  would  be  obliged  to  talk  to  her, 
not  he. 

w  How  fast  the  snow  is  going !  "  began  Sarah,  as 
an  easy  commonplace. 

"  Most  gone,"  returned  Henry,  briefly. 

*  Sleddin's  over.  We  thought  we'd  be  sure  o* 
one  more  load,"  called  Sam,  willing  to  earn  fra- 


280  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

ternal  gratitude.     "It's  the  last  we  shall  get  on 
runners." 

"I  should  think  so,  indeed.  How  far  do  you 
go  for  the  wood  ?  " 

"Oh,  a  matter  o'  two  mile, — through  Uncle 
Ben's  lot  here,  an'  another  pastur',  an'  then  we 
come  to  our'n  !  " 

Explorations  in  six  inches  of  damp  snow  within 
the  woods  had  ceased  to  hold  a  charm. 

"Suppose  I  should  go  with  you,  would  you  let 
me  ride  back  on  the  load  ?  "  she  suggested. 

Sam  glanced  at  her  dubiously. 

"  It  ain't  good  for  clothes,  wood  an'  pitch  ain't," 
he  said,  this  time  looking  straight  in  her  eyes,  his 
own  holding  a  spark  of  mischief.  Sarah's  laughed 
in  answer. 

"  And  my  clothes  are  only  good  to  go  where  I 
choose  to  have  them." 

So  she  kept  her  state,  and  was  soon  on  an  ex 
cellent  footing  with  her  charioteers.  While  they 
were  loading,  she  sat  by,  musing  admiringly  over 
their  splendid  control  of  matter.  They  seemed 
great,  rude  forces  ;  a  choking  arose  in  her  throat 
when  the  thought  suggested  the  trained  muscle 
and  fine  poise  of  nerve  in  another  man.  He,  too, 
had  the  true  manhood,  that  intangible  quality  as 
elusive  of  definition  as  genius,  and  yet  as  palpable 
to  the  consciousness.  But,  the  load  ready,  she 
woke  from  her  musings,  climbed  to  her  perch,  and 


IN   EXILE.  281 

the  oxen  swung  slowly  back  over  the  fields.  After 
that,  Sam  came  bashfully  in  for  an  evening; 
Henry  followed,  and  her  place  in  the  family  circle 
was  secure.  So  her  double  life  began,  active, 
wholesome,  and  sweet  on  the  surface ;  filled  with 
cries  of  longing  for  the  pleasant  land  behind  her, 
of  prayers  for  his  consolation  who  was  left  sole 
watcher  by  a  lonely  hearth. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

FEOM   DAY   TO   DAY. 

O  TEPHEN  had  lent  his  aid  to  an  act  of  abstract 
justice,  which  could  do  no  one,  so  said  his 
practical  sense,  an  iota  of  good.  Some  unknown 
consummation  was  to  be  reached  through  an  infi 
nite  amount  of  suffering .  Was  it  all  worth  while  ? 
He  had  scarcely  returned  to  his  lonely  house, 
haunted  still  by  her  warm  presence,  before  the  doubt 
assailed  him.  Worse,  he  knew  that  the  struggle 
must  continue,  as  the  doubt  should  grow,  unless 
that  could  be  at  once  strangled.  The  staff  on 
which  he  leaned  was  the  certainty  that  it  wras  like 
a  loyal  lover  to  submit  to  the  dictates  of  a  good 
woman.  She  might  have  set  her  soul  to  folly,  be 
lieving  it  to  be  a  higher  wisdom.  If  that  were  so, 
she  should  turn  her  steps  homeward  of  her  own 
accord.  Unless  he  should  be  overcome  by  his 
weakness  of  longing,  he  would  not  influence  her 
choice.  He  did  not  delude  himself  into  feeling 
that  his  acquiescence  arose  from  any  aspiration  for 
a  satisfied  sense  of  right.  A  sweet  human  happi 
ness  would  have  contented  him.  It  had  contented 
him,  and  he  would  again  have  been  supremely 
satisfied  to  sit  with  her  beside  his  hearth,  feel- 


FROM    DAY   TO   DAY.  283 

ing  that  the  gods  could  bear  no  enmity  towards 
such  unambitious  serenity  of  joy.  But  she  had 
wished  something  different.  She  longed  for  a 
wine  of  sanctification ;  he  would  not  put  the  cup 
away  from  her  lips. 

To  him  came  Bernard,  more  beside  himself  than 
usual. 

"  What  does  her  note  mean  ?  "  he  asked,  without 
preamble,  running  his  hand  through  his  long  hair. 
"  She  wanted  rest,  quiet  ?  Why  ?  She  wasn't  ill." 

"  No,  not  ill,"  said  Stephen,  leaning  wearily  back 
from  the  table  where  his  head  had  been  resting  on 
his  arms.  "  It  is  true,  she  needs  rest."  He  scarcely 
saw  Bernard,  vaguely  conscious  that  he  was  being 
disturbed,  and  that  the  cause  of  annoyance  lay  in 
some  one  always  slightly  antagonistic  to  him. 

"  There  is  trouble  between  you,"  said  Bernard, 
suddenly,  watching  him.  In  these  days  he  was 
animated  by  something  like  the  malicious  cunning 
of  the  insane.  "I  see  it  in  you,  too." 

The  words  roused  Stephen  like  a  sudden  shaft 
of  bright  sunlight.  He  awoke  from  his  torpor ;  a 
smile  shot  over  his  face. 

"  No,  no  trouble  between  us,  thank  God  !  That 
can  never  be.  Whatever  there  is,  is  outside,  and 
we  bear  it  together." 

"Well,  and  as  long  as  I  am  outside,  I  suppose 
I  am  not  to  know,"  sneered  Bernard.  "You  can't 
deny  that  something  has  happened." 


284  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

"  No,  something  has  happened.  She  is  in  trouble, 
and  she  felt  it  could  be  borne  best  away  from 
me." 

Bernard  walked  to  the  farther  side  of  the  room. 
There  he  flung  up  his  arms  desparingly. 

"  My  God  !  "  he  cried.  "  It  is  only  a  year,  and 
what  shipwreck  has  overtaken  us  both  !  We  came 
here  a  year  ago ;  we  were  young,  and  had  no 
trouble  except  from  losing  her.  And  since  then 
Sarah  has  lived  centuries,  and  I  am  in  hell !  " 

Stephen  looked  at  him  in  some  distaste.  Ber 
nard's  paroxysms  could  scarcely  have  been  inter 
esting  to  any  man,  except  a  physician.  There  was 
something  womanish  in  this  jTielding  to  over 
strained  nerves.  Stephen  thought  it  might  prove 
salutary  for  the  man  to  be  placed  under  the  pump, 
for  baptism  into  brotherhood  with  the  sane. 
Bernard  walked  back,  and  stopped  in  front  of  him. 

"  I  lived  in  disguise  for  over  twenty  years  of  my 
life.  Then  I  found  out  that  I  was  rotten  to  the 
heart's  core.  I  am  haunted,  I  am  cursed  by  my 
own  thoughts ;  I  am  betrayed,  ridiculed,  forsak 
en.  And  all  this  is  nothing  to  the  thought  that 
she  is  in  trouble.  You  don't  know  what  she  was 
to  me ! "  He  made  the  last  declaration  slowly, 
looking  Stephen  daringly  in  the  eye.  He  expect 
ed  vengeance.  But  the  poor  creature  was  too 
broken  to  excite  anything  but  pity. 

"I  know  it,"  said   Stephen,   gently.     "I  have 


FROM   DAY    TO   DAY.  285 

always   known  all  about  it.      I  wish  you  could 
have  been  happier." 

The  surprise  took  Bernard  by  storm.  He  laid 
his  head  on  the  table  and  burst  into  weak  tears. 
Stephen  sat  looking  at  him  with  listless  specula 
tion.  "And  yet  she  was  fond  of  him,"  suddenly 
formed  itself  in  his  revery .  "  She  would  wish  him 
helped."  He  endeavored  to  recall  his  scattered 
energies,  to  throw  his  own  trouble  behind  him  and 
cast  sad  fancies  out  of  the  moment.  When  Ber 
nard  had  recovered  himself  and  sat  up  shame 
facedly,  it  was  to  find  Stephen  standing  before  the 
fire,  graver  than  usual,  but  possessed  of  all  his 
ordinary  coolness  of  demeanor. 

"  Now,  Ellis,"  he  said,  in  a  most  business-like 
tone,  "  you  and  I  have  been  hard  hit,  in  different 
ways,  but  we've  got  to  live  through  it.  Would 
you  do  a  fellow-creature  a  favor,  even  if  that  in 
dividual  happened  to  be  the  one  before  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Anybody  else  might,  but  I 
don't  reckon  myself  among  other  people." 

"  That's  nonsense ;  you  are  no  worse  off  than 
other  men,  and  you  have  no  more  right  to  ex 
cuse  yourself  from  common  courtesies.  You  may 
have  more  black  humors,  but  there  are  practical 
troubles  that  overbalance  such  a  million  times 
over." 

Bernard  clenched  his  hands,  in  his  hopeless  ina 
bility  to  explain. 


FOOLS   OP  NATURE. 

"  If  you  only  knew  ! "  he  began,  sure  that  his 
sum  of  miseries  must  "make  Ossa  like  a  wart." 

"  I  don't  want  to  know.  There's  no  reason  why 
either  of  us  should  read  the  other's  private  history 
in  order  to  behave  like  a  human  being.  Now  you 
don't  like  me,  and  I  don't  especially  like  you,  but 
for  my  own  satisfaction  I  want  you  to  stay  here  a 
week.  Will  you  ?  " 

"  In  this  house  ?     Here,  with  you  ?  " 

"  With  me,  so  to  speak.  I  sha'n't  lay  veiy 
heavy  demands  on  your  society." 

"  I  can't  do  it.  There  are  duties  before  me 
that  must  be  done.  Anybody  else  would  have 
done  them  long  ago.  I  have  a  debt  to  pay,  of 
money  that  I  should  not  have  used." 

"Ah?"  said  Stephen,  regarding  him  keenly. 
"Is  that  your  trouble?  If  it  lies  in  a  stolen 
money-bag  I  don't  wonder  at  your  heroics." 

Thereupon,  in  a  manner  forced  to  it,  Bernard 
told  him  a  part  of  his  haunting  story,  touching 
chiefly  on  the  point  that  he  had  no  right  to  the 
money  he  had  inherited,  and  must  provide  himself 
with  an  honest  living. 

"  More  abstract  justice  !  "  thought  Stephen. 
"  And  I  the  instrument  to  help  work  it  out."  The 
last  struck  him  as  being  irresistibly  amusing.  He 
remained  in  thought  so  long  that  Bernard,  feeling 
himself  forgotten,  rose  to  go.  Then  Stephen 
looked  up. 


FROM   DAY   TO   DAY.  287 

"  I  have  been  wanting  for  some  days  a  man  to 
take  charge  of  the  correspondence  at  the  mill,  and 
to  attend  to  various  items  not  the  business  of  the 
book-keeper.  Will  you  take  the  place  ?  It's  no 
favor  to  you." 

"If  I  could  go  in  as  a  workman,  where  I 
belong." 

"Mere  sentiment,"  interrupted  Stephen.  "If 
you  want  to  earn  your  living,  here  is  a  respectable 
chance,  —  that  is,  if  j'our  handwriting  is  decent 
and  you  can  compose  a  coherent  letter.  Take  it, 
or  leave  it." 

The  tone  disarmed  Bernard  of  his  suspicion  that 
the  offer  might  have  arisen  from  pity.  He  would 
have  refused,  but  Stephen's  practical,  off-hand 
manner  made  him  ashamed  of  meeting  it  senti 
mentally. 

"  Very  well ;  shall  I  begin  to-morrow  ?  " 

"Yes,  be  there  at  eight.  And  you  refuse  to 
come  here  as  my  lodger  ?  " 

"  I  must." 

"Very  well."  They  said  good-night  with  no 
expenditure  of  feeling  on  either  side.  Neither 
man  was  much  more  surprised  at  what  had  passed 
than  the  other,  Stephen  at  his  own  offer,  and  Ber 
nard  at  his  acceptance.  After  all,  Stephen  was  not 
sorry  that  Bernard  had  rejected  his  proposal  of 
making  his  house  a  home.  It  had  arisen  from  a 
feeling  that  in  his  present  frame  of  mind  Bernard 


288  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

might  do  harm  to  himself.  In  that  would  lie  an 
other  sorrow  for  Sarah,  which  perhaps  could  be 
averted. 

Bernard  was  at  his  duties  early  and  late,  show 
ing  an  irritable  dissatisfaction  if  he  finished  work 
in  time  to  give  himself  rest  within  the  prescribed 
hours.  It  made  him  suspicious  of  leaving  some 
credit  on  Stephen's  side  ;  there  should  be  no  favor 
between  them.  In  his  hatred  of  himself  he  took 
a  fierce  delight  in  working  his  energies  to  their 
fullest  extent,  going  home  enfeebled  and  dazed  of 
mind.  He  was  away  from  Miss  Phebe's  early  in 
the  morning,  and  returned  late  at  night,  to  avoid 
Linora.  He  feared  her  laughter  almost  as  much 
as  his  own  malicious  ghost.  With  his  growing 
weariness  of  nerve,  that  apparition  increased  in 
clearness  of  outline.  It  seemed  to  feed  upon  him, 
vampire-like,  distending  itself  on  his  blood,  and 
smiling  in  bloated  fatness  while  he  paled  and  shiv 
ered  before  it.  It  had  not  at  first  been  visible  to 
his  bodily  eyes  ;  he  had  then  been  conscious  that 
it  lay  within  fancy's  field  of  vision.  Now,  so 
diseased  had  all  his  senses  become  that  he  could 
have  sworn  to  a  visible  shape  standing  before  him. 
How  could  that  fail  to  complete  his  potential  be 
lief  in  spiritual  phenomena?  He  had  been  told 
to  frequent  circles  where  good  spirits  would  ap 
pear.  More  than  one  evening  in  the  week  found 
him  with  a  medium,  sometimes  receiving  raps 


FROM   DAY   TO   DAY.  289 

from  mysterious  hands,  often  watching  shadowy 
forms  appearing  and  disappearing,  —  and  always 
in  weariness  of  heart.  His  spiritual  guides  gave 
him  ambiguous  counsel,  but  none  in  which  lay 
strength  or  comfort.  He  came  away  from  them 
each  time,  not  with  any  weakening  of  belief  in 
their  honesty,  but  with  his  faith  in  the  nobility  of 
existence,  in  this  or  any  other  sphere,  hopelessly 
damaged.  The  plane  of  his  conception  of  life 
sank  by  steady  degrees.  Stephen,  seeing  such 
change  wrought  in  him,  exerted  himself  as  a  phy 
sician  might,  to  minister  to  him  secretly.  He  sent 
him  out  of  town  on  slight  errands,  making  various 
pretexts  for  his  driving  a  horse  which  brooked  no 
listlessness  nor  inattention.  Stephen  had  an  un 
spoken  theory,  which  he  constantly  acted  upon  in 
his  own  case,  that  there  exists  no  more  effectual 
remedy  for  a  sick  mind  than  lies  in  the  company 
of  a  horse  full  of  nerve  and  muscle. 

And  in  the  mean  time  how  should  Linora  amuse 
herself?  She  had  no  new  confidant,  and  her  uncle 
had  taken  up  his  residence  at  the  nearest  hotel, 
whence  he  made  a  daily  pilgrimage  to  Miss  Phebe's 
parlor.  There  was,  indeed,  the  briefest  sort  of 
satisfaction  for  the  retired  actress  in  playing  her 
new  part  of  repentant  sinner  with  such  quiet  clever 
ness  as  to  ward  him  off  from  discussion  of  her 
errors,  and  in  preserving  with  Miss  Phebe  her  most 


290  FOOLS  or  NATURE. 

Madonna-like  deportment.  It  did  indeed  puzzle 
that  lady  to  find  the  niece  on  terms  of  good-fellow 
ship  with  an  uncle  who  had  been  painted  as  a  ser 
pent  full  of  guile  ;  but  here  she  brought  to  bear  her 
theory  of  the  sweet  resignation  and  forgiveness 
which  made  up  Linora's  character.  That  the  uncle 
showed  no  trace  of  his  innate  depravity  did  not 
surprise  her,  since  deceit  lay  at  the  very  founda 
tion  of  his  character,  the  point  on  which  all  this 
villany  hinged.  Contrary  to  her  nature  as  it 
might  be,  she  did  not  give  way  to  her  outspoken 
opinion  of  him.  She  meant,  for  Linora's  sake, 
first  to  tolerate,  to  rouse  in  him  some  sense  of  the 
girl's  worth,  then  to  speak  her  mind  with  a  ven 
geance  and  swear  him  to  future  well-doing.  Miss 
Phebe  had  constituted  herself  a  reformer.  She 
realized  the  humor  of  the  situation,  and  smiled 
grimly. 

One  day  she  found  Gale  waiting  in  the  parlor, 
idly  and  execrably  picking  out  an  air  upon  the 
piano.  She  had  intended  dusting  the  room,  but 
confined  her  operations  to  the  hall  till  he  should 
have  gone.  Linora,  she  knew,  was  not  in,  but 
she  waited  for  the  servant  to  tell  him  so.  The 
false  notes  and  purposeless  retracing  of  steps  went 
on  at  the  piano  till  Miss  Phebe  could  bear  it  no 
more. 

"You'll  never  get  it  in  the  world,"  she  said, 
suddenly  appearing  in  the  doorway,  duster  in  hand, 


FROM    DAY    TO   DAY.  291 

her  head  enveloped  in  a  blue  kerchief.    "It's  as 
wrong  as  it  can  be." 

"So  I  see,"  said  Gale,  with  unimpaired  good- 
humor.  "  But  I  wish  it  wouldn't  haunt  me.  I 
daresay  I  shall  get  it  by  and  by,  if  you  don't  mind 
my  trying."  And  he  placidly  began  his  stumbling 
way  again. 

"  Not  if  I  go  up  into  the  fourth  story,"  muttered 
Miss  Phebe. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  play  it  for  me  ?  " 

"I  can't  play.  Why,  see — "the  temptation 
becoming  too  strong  for  her,  "  listen ;  it  goes  like 
this." 

She  burst  forth  into  the  soaring  melody,  and,  with 
no  more  attention  to  her  listener  than  if  he  had 
been  a  statue,  sang  on  to  the  end.  She  waved  her 
turbaned  head  in  time,  she  held  the  duster  like  a 
banner,  she  was  grotesque  in  the  extreme ;  her 
voice,  in  its  contrast  with  the  common  surround 
ings  and  her  own  person,  seemed  almost  divine. 

"  Ye  gods  ! "  muttered  Gale,  startled  out  of  his 
composure.  "  More,  more  !  "  he  called,  as  stormily 
as  if  he  represented  an  entire  gallery.  "  Go  on ;  I 
will  have  more  ! " 

Miss  Phebe  had  forgotten ;  it  was  true  that  she 
had  not  sung  for  years.  She  began  an  aria  from 
"  Semiramide."  What  she  had  once  hoped  from 
her  voice  came  back  to  her.  She  was  a  girl  again, 
dreaming  ambitious  dreams.  When  she  had  fin- 


292  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

ished,  Gale  laid  his  hands  together  in  noisy  ap 
plause,  and  Miss  Phebe  looked  at  him  for  one 
instant,  buried  her  face  in  the  duster,  and  sobbed 
aloud. 

*  Shut  the  door  !  "  came  incoherently  from  the 
folds  of  her  temporary  refuge.  "  Shut  it !  lock  it ! 
Somebody's  coming  down  stairs,  and  I  wouldn't 
have  the  angel  Gabriel  see  me  so !  " 

Gale  promptly  shut  out  the  public,  and  then,  too 
much  distressed  to  utter  a  word,  stood  waiting  for 
the  termination  of  the  sobs.  He  had  not  long  to 
wait.  Miss  Phebe  presently  emerged,  her  face 
covered  with  shame  and  tears. 

"Am  I  all  streaks?" 

"On  my  honor,  no;  not  a  streak,"  said  Gale, 
solemnly.  If  he  himself  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
indulging  in  tears,  he  would  have  given  way  to 
them. 

"  It's  well  I've  got  such  a  clean  house,"  said  Miss 
Phebe,  philosophically.  "I  shouldn't  want  to  cry 
into  some  dusters."  She  had  produced  a  handker 
chief  by  this  time,  and  carefully  dried  her  face. 
"  What  sort  of  a  memory  have  you  got  ?  " 

w  Short,  deplorably  short,"  answered  Gale,  with 
a  twinkle  in  his  eyes. 

"Well,  by  the  next  time  I  see  you,  or  you  see 
somebody  else  —  " 

"  I  sha'n't  remember  that  Fv<s  heard  a  heavenly 
voice  this  morning ! " 


FROM   DAT  TO  DAT.  293 

"Then  I  think  I'll  dust  here.  And  Linora  isn't 
in.  I  forgot  to  tell  you." 

Gale  walked  out,  and  had  inadvertently  gone 
two  miles  before  he  had  collected  his  scattered 
wits. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

PROGRESS. 

T)ROFESSOR  LEONARD,  medium,  was  in 
-*-  deep  trouble  of  mind.  It  had  frequently  been 
suggested  to  him  by  Riker  that  they  were  not 
earning  money  enough  to  support  their  present 
style  of  living,  and  to  carry  on  what  Riker  des 
ignated  as  his  charities.  He  presented  himself 
in  the  young  man's  room  one  evening,  after  rather 
an  unsuccessful  materialization,  and  threw  himself, 
with  an  air  of  great  frankness,  upon  his  pupil's 
sympathy. 

"Luck  is  going  hard  with  me,  Len,"  he  said, 
stretching  himself  upon  the  sofa,  and  stroking  his 
long  beard. 

"  Maybe  'twill  be  better  another  night.  Did  you 
think  it  was  because  they  didn't  seem  so  strong  ? 
Did  they  draw  from  you  as  much  as  common  ?  " 

"  It  isn't  that.  The  fact  is,  Len,  our  income  isn't 
what  it  ought  to  be." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  the  boy,  relieved. 
"  Why,  there's  dozens  of  things  we  can  live  with 
out  !  There's  everything  you've  been  planning  for 
me." 

"My  dear  boy,"  said  Riker,  in  his  most  engag- 

294 


PROGRESS.  295 

ing  lecture-room  manner,  "  I  must  tell  you  some 
thing  I  meant  nobody  should  know.  For  five  years 
1  have  been  more  than  half  supporting  a  hospital, 
—  I  won't  tell  you  where.  Its  expenses  are  increas 
ing,  and  my  income  isn't.  Can  I  leave  those  poor 
people  to  be  turned  away  from  its  doors  because 
there  isn't  room  for  them  ?  Can  I  beg  the  purse- 
proud  millionaire  for  a  pittance  of  his  gains,  to  be 
refused  in  scorn  ?  No  ! " 

It  was  a  burst  of  truly  inspirational  eloquence, 
which  would  have  elicited  rounds  of  applause  from 
his  kind.  Leonard  paid  tribute  in  quickly  starting 
tears. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  before?"  he  cried. 
"Use  the  money  you've  been  investing  forme.  I 
take  this  hard  of  you,  Biker  ! " 

The  money  he  had  been  investing !  Hiker 
looked  sharply  at  him  at  that  clause,  but  the  in 
nocence  of  his  face  was  reassuring. 

"No,  Lenny.  Your  savings  never  shall  be 
touched.  If  I  should  die,  you  would  need  a  little 
capital  to  start  on  again,  and  you  might  fall  sick, 
you  know."  Leonard  entreated,  but  to  no  purpose. 
"  But  I  won't  deny,"  added  Riker,  frankly,  "  that 
if  you  made  more  than  you  do  at  present,  I'd  take 
a  percentage  besides  what  I  mean  to  lay  up  for 
you.  I  wouldn't  ask  you  to  see  more  people,  Len, 
if  I  wasn't  sure  you  could  do  'em  justice,  and  with 
your  talents,  I  know  you  can.  When  I  think  of 


296  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

those  orphans  and  widows  turned  away  from  the 
hospital  doors,  my  heart  bleeds,  Len,  bleeds  ! " 
striking  a  resounding  blow  in  the  locality  of  that 
organ. 

Len,  too,  had  some  experience  of  the  figurative 
discomfort  in  question  as  he  lay  awake  that  night, 
with  him  an  unusual  proceeding.  His  fancy  formed 
a  procession  of  the  halt  and  maimed,  refused  heal 
ing  and  comfort  because  he,  Professor  Leonard, 
was  too  sparing  of  his  talents.  Hitherto  he  had 
denied  himself  to  those  he  was  sure  he  could  not 
serve  through  lack  of  the  one  vision.  The  next 
day,  he  recklessly  invited  in  one  after  another, 
beyond  his  hours  of  seeing  visitors.  There  were 
runs  of  custom,  as  in  all  trades,  and  just  now  the 
world  seemed  bound  on  spiritual  investigation. 
Leonard  silenced  his  inward  protest  by  an  indig 
nant  remembrance  of  last  night's  appeal ;  he  felt 
that  he  should  despise  himself  if  he  did  not  re 
spond  to  it.  Therefore  it  was  that  to  the  last  two 
or  three  of  his  visitors  he  contented  himself  with 
uttering  some  of  the  platitudes  which  Biker  had 
set  him*as  lessons.  And  at  night  he  ran  with  his 
gains  to  his  master,  his  heart  overflowing,  begging 
him  to  use  them  at  once.  Hiker's  face  glowed 
with  approval.  At  last  he  had  a  hold  on  his  crea 
ture,  on  whose  simple  and  stubborn  honesty  no 
wile  had  hitherto  been  able  to  produce  much  real 
effect. 


PROGRESS.  297 

w  My  dear  boy  !  my  son,  I  should  be  proud  to 
call  you  !  "  he  cried,  again  in  his  lecture-room  man 
ner.  "  You  never  can  guess  how  you  can  relieve 
my  load !  This  very  afternoon  a  call  came  for 
medicines  and  wine.  My  last  cent  is  gone  except 
what  I  must  use  to  pay  my  honest  debts,  and  this 
saves  me.  I  need  not  refuse  my  poor." 

His  transport  was  no  more  than  equal  to  Len's 
honest  delight.  Len  seemed  to  himself  a  new 
man,  with  a  part  of  the  world  on  his  shoulders. 
The  deed  not  only  ministered  to  his  vanity ;  it 
satisfied  a  legitimate  quality  of  the  human  mind, 
—  the  longing  to  be  of  use.  He  worked  un- 
weariedly ;  there  was  no  need  of  justifying  him 
self  for  making  little  distinction  between  the  les 
sons  rooted  in  his  own  mind  and  what  he  believed 
to  be  spiritual  utterances.  Doubtless  he  might 
have  done  that  and  still  considered  himself  honest, 
but  constant  occupation  saved  him  .the  trouble. 
His  overpowering  interest  in  the  unknown  hospital 
occupied  his  mind  to  the  exclusion  of  metaphysical 
problems. 

Soon  after  this,  Bernard  was  present  at  one  of 
the  many  "  dark  circles "  he  was  in  the  habit 
of  frequenting.  Biker  was  becoming  exceedingly 
versatile  in  the  various  branches  of  his  profession. 
He  had  attempted  some  of  the  physical  feats  in 
dulged  in  by  mediums,  but  always  apologetically, 
referring  to  them  as  the  lowest  form  of  manifesta- 


298  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

tions,  which  were  yet  sometimes  necessary  for 
the  conversion  of  sceptics.  The  usual  formula 
followed  the  darkening  of  the  room.  Previously, 
however,  visitors  had  been  seated  according  to 
Hiker's  direction,  who  announced  that  he  was 
guided  in  his  choice  by  Mixy-Maxy,  an  exceed 
ingly  hilarious  and  unconventional  Indian  maiden. 
Her  dialect  lay  in  an  indescribable  corruption  of 
the  English  language,  which  Mrs.  Biker  inter 
preted  at  intervals,  always  with  the  air  of  standing 
on  hot  coals  and  waiting  for  permission  from  her 
master  to  seek  a  cooler  resting-place. 

"  That  ol*  chief  one  with  white  top-knot,  he  set 
down  by  little  papoose .  Why ,  you  big  squaw ,  too  ! " 
This  to  a  rather  diminutive  woman  whom  the  eyes 
of  the  crowd,  concentrated  to  a  focus  on  herself, 
greatly  embarrassed.  "  Well,  you  sets  yourself 
right  down  'ere.  Ol'  chief,  has  you  ever  been  in  a 
snircle  before  ?  " 

"  Circle,  she  means,"  explained  Mrs.  Riker  to 
the  tittering  assembly. 

The  monologue  was  hailed  with  the  enthusiasm 
elicited  by  the  points  of  good  comedy.  Finally, 
when  the  circle  had  been  formed  to  Biker's  satis 
faction,  —  and  it  was  to  be  observed  that  no 
acquaintances  sat  together,  except  such  as  were 
known  to  be  fervent  spiritualists,  —  each  member 
was  directed  to  hold  the  wrist  of  his  next  neighbor, 
and  in  like  manner  to  allow  his  own  to  be  held  on 


PROGRESS.  299 

the  other  side.  Hiker  adjured  the  company  on  no 
account  to  drop  this  hold,  as  it  would  break  the 
current  and  the  circle  at  once.  Leonard  was 
placed  between  two  strangers,  Kiker  knowing  well 
that  nothing  short  of  paralysis  could  weaken  his 
grasp  when  once  he  had  been  told  to  keep  it.  The 
usual  line  of  action  followed,  though  none  of  the 
phenomena  were  of  a  complicated  nature.  Riker 
was  not  yet  an  adept,  and  was  too  cautious  to  trust 
himself  on  uncertain  ground. 

Balls  of  fire  were  to  be  seen  hovering  over  the 
heads  of  the  company,  and  were  greeted  with 
little  shouts  of  delighted  wonder.  Riker,  who  sat 
in  the  centre,  kept  up  an  incessant  patting  of  his 
hands,  to  keep  up  also  the  delusion  that  he  had  no 
share  in  the  coming  manifestations.  Presently 
one  cried  out  that  his  face  had  been  touched  ;  then 
a  hoarse  whisper  was  heard,  now  here,  now  there. 
Riker  had  taken  a  ring  from  his  finger,  and  one  of 
the  company  had  placed  it  on  his  own  hand.  A 
spiritualist  at  some  distance  from  him  requested 
that  the  ring  should  be  carried  to  him,  and,  after 
several  seconds,  delightedly  thanked  the  unseen 
messenger.  One  of  the  women  present  had  brought 
a  bag  of  candy  which  she  laid  in  her  lap,  as  an 
offering  to  the  very  active  Mixy-Maxy.  From 
time  to  time  was  heard  a  rustling  of  the  bag,  ac 
companied  by  an  exuberant,  "Dear  little  soul,  help 
yourself ! "  from  the  donor ;  and  the  generous 


300  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

Mixy  distributed  the  candy  about  the  circle. 
Meanwhile  Bernard  sat  in  the  midst  of  this  rather 
broad  comedy,  listless  and  sick  at  heart.  Believ 
ing  that  the  phenomena  were  really  manifestations 
of  an  inconceivably  noble  science,  he  would  not 
have  owned  that  they  were  disgusting  to  him. 
He  would  probably  rather  have  ascribed  the  feel 
ing  which  they  certainly  inspired,  to  his  own  im 
perfections.  He  had  come  here  hoping  for  some 
sort  of  spiritual  stimulus  to  whet  his  purpose. 
Suddenly  he  was  roused  from  the  dead  level  of 
re  very  by  a  whisper  in  front  of  him,  "  My  son,  do 
you  know  me  ?  " 

"  Speak  to  me  !  "  called  Bernard,  loudly  and  im 
petuously,  as  if  to  arrest  the  voice  before  it  fled. 
"Tell  me  what  to  do." 

"You  know." 

"Shall  I  go  back?" 

"  Yes,  go  back,  but  don't  stay.  Come  here  often 
for  strength."  And  it  would  speak  no  further. 

Bernard  went  home  determined.  He  seemed  to 
be  nearing  the  end  of  a  narrowing  path.  Celestial 
fingers  pointed  out  his  way,  and  always  in  one  di 
rection.  He  must  go  back  to  his  mother.  With 
a  half  formed  purpose  of  asking  Stephen  for  leave 
of  absence,  he  went  next  day  to  the  office.  He 
found  Stephen  there  alone,  and  as  soon  as  he  set 
eyes  upon  him,  felt  and  saw  a  marvellous  change. 
Stephen's  struggle  of  renunciation  was  growing 


PROGRESS.  301 

no  easier.  It  was  like  a  constant  gnawing  of  pain, 
in  the  midst  of  which  a  tearing  tooth  would  some 
times  more  cruelly  lacerate  the  flesh.  He  had  set 
himself  the  task  of  neither  writing  nor  seeing  his 
wife  until  she  herself  should  give  him  leave.  Per 
haps  in  that  lay  not  only  loyal  submission  to  her 
wishes,  but  a  knightly  desire  to  purge  himself 
from  a  sin  against  love  by  an  act  almost  too  great 
to  be  accomplished.  He  was  becoming  conscious 
that  he,  too,  had  been  born  with  an  enthusiasm 
for  noble  deeds,  though  he  had  recognized  the 
longing,  as  it  lay  half  formless,  only  as  love  of  the 
beautiful.  He  had  begun  vaguely  to  feel  that  it 
was  changing  in  form,  growing  to  be  less  sensuous 
of  outline  and  warm  of  color ;  that  it  need  not 
demand  serene  conditions  of  life  for  its  ripening, 
but,  like  a  severe  goddess,  was  able  to  reflect  the 
godlike  in  the  midst  of  arctic  snows.  Was  it  one 
and  the  same  thing  they  worshipped,  he  with  his 
emotional  temperament,  and  this  New  England 
girl,  whose  will  was  as  unyielding  to  sunshine  as 
the  granite  of  her  own  hills  ?  But  there  were  times, 
in  spite  of  this  growing  change,  when  heart  and 
brain  cried  together  in  loud  protest  against  his 
loss.  Often  he  felt  that  going  to  her  would  be  the 
only  deed  that  the  universe  held  for  him.  He 
loved  too  well  to  feel  a  small  pride  where  she  was 
concerned ;  there  would  be  no  shame  in  confessing 
to  himself,  "  I  failed  because  my  will  was  weaker 


302  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

than  my  love."  But  here  a  dull  restraint  lay 
heavy  upon  him,  in  the  thought  that  she  might 
feel  shame  for  him.  The  bliss  of  their  meeting 
might  with  her  be  secondary  to  the  wish  that  he 
had  not  yielded.  That  must  never  be. 

This  morning,  the  inward  protest  against  his 
task  had  quite  destroyed  his  composure.  He  was 
in  a  state  of  quivering  sensitiveness  which  no  one 
could  understand  better  than  Bernard,  and  which 
could  not  be  more  despicable  to  any  one  than  to 
Stephen  himself.  It  seemed  to  Bernard  that  he 
could  almost  see  the  quiver  of  the  nerves  beneath 
the  thin  face. 

"Have  you  heard  from  her?  "  he  asked,  hastily, 
breaking  the  restraint  of  weeks  in  his  instant 
thought  of  her. 

"  No  ;  and  I'll  sell  my  soul  to  anybody  who  has 
seen  her  and  can  tell  me  how  she  is."  Then  he 
recollected  himself,  and  returned  to  his  desk, 
ashamed  enough  of  the  self-betraying  outbreak  to 
remain  sane  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  Later,  Ber 
nard  told  him  that  he  was  going  to  his  mother, 
and  asked  leave  of  absence,  which  Stephen  granted 
without  looking  at  him. 

But  Bernard's  plans  had  changed  in  that  mo 
mentary  perusal  of  Stephen's  face.  He  had  re 
strained  himself  from  questioning  about  Sarah, 
and  even  from  writing  to  her.  If  he  had  not  been 
born  with  the  instincts  of  a  gentleman,  he  would 


PROGRESS.  303 

supply  their  effect  by  power  of  will.  There  was 
a  fierce  emulation  of  Stephen  in  this  thought. 
Since  Stephen  chose  to  reserve  his  confidence,  he, 
Bernard,  would  reserve  his  curiosity.  But  now, 
with  a  blind  grasping  after  knight-errantry,  he 
determined  on  going  to  Coventry,  to  bring  Stephen 
news  of  his  wife. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

A    MESSAGE. 

T>ERNARD  arrived  at  Coventry  without  pre- 
-*^  vious  announcement,  and  walked  from  the 
station.  Sarah  was  stricken  white  and  trembling 
with  joy  at  sight  of  him,  but,  as  he  was  able  bit 
terly  to  tell  himself,  a  joy  not  for  him. 

"Have  you  seen  him,  Bernard?  "  she  whispered, 
as  soon  as  they  were  alone.  He  stoically  began 
the  recital  of  all  that  had  happened.  Her  eyes 
flashed  with  delight  when  he  came  to  his  own  en 
gagement  at  the  office.  It  was  for  her  sake,  she 
knew. 

Later  in  the  evening,  when  the  family  sat 
together,  Bernard  watched  her  absently  while  the 
others  talked.  He  remembered,  with  a  start,  the 
old  simile  of  the  lamp  burning  within  its  fine 
porcelain  vase.  Her  face  had  become  refined  to 
something  pure  and  transparent,  through  which 
shone  an  eager  soul.  The  ultimate  stage  had 
been  reached ;  she  had  at  last  realized,  in  spite  of 
insistent  and  unreasonable  hope,  that  the  step  she 
had  taken  was  final .  The  heart  of  many  a  woman 
possessing  as  great  strength  of  will  might  have 
died  down,  leaving  the  token  of  its  fall  in  a  shat- 

304 


A    MESSAGE.  305 

teved  frame.  But  there  was  a  strong  joyousness 
inherent  in  this  soul,  which  never  asserted  itself 
more  actively  than  now.  Having  sacrificed  to  a 
god,  every  fibre  of  her  nature  insisted  that  the 
struggle  must  avail ;  to  believe  otherwise  was  to 
hurl  blasphemy  against  nature's  mercy.  Over  the 
sharp  undertone  of  her  pain  soared  this  triumph 
ant  melody  of  prophecy.  Such  dramatic  living 
might,  indeed,  of  itself  wear  her  out.  The  body 
might  be  wasted  and  consumed  by  such  vibration  ; 
but  it  was  not  likely.  She  had  been  born  a  crea 
ture  of  fine  flesh,  fitted  to  endure  the  burning  of 
the  intense  spirit. 

Half  unconsciously  to  himself,  Bernard  was 
soothed  by  the  atmosphere  of  the  place.  He  had 
grown  of  late  to  regard  outward  objects  with  the 
eyes  of  a  dreamer.  They  were  unsubstantial, 
wavering ;  assuming  lessening  proportions  as  his 
phantom  took  on  flesh.  He  hardly  noticed  Maria, 
who  in  turn  was  not  attracted  to  him.  He  im 
pressed  her  as  a  poetizing  mind  is  likely  to  affect 
one  of  aggressive  practicality,  as  having  no  particu 
lar  fitness  in  reference  to  things  in  general.  But 
by  Uncle  Ben,  with  his  love  to  all  mankind,  he  was 
fathered  at  once. 

As  he  sat  by  the  fire,  leaning  his  head  upon  the 
old-fashioned  wood-work,  and  letting  his  eyes 
wander,  he  was  arrested  by  the  old  man's  voice. 

"You  two  don't  seem  to  favor  each  other  much. 


306  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

Well,  well !  one 's  father  an'  one 's  mother,  I 
s'pose." 

A  dull  blush  stained  Bernard's  face.  He  seemed 
to  be  pursued  by  little  imps  of  words,  grinning!}- 
pointing  at  his  griefs.  With  his  belief  in  the  su 
pernatural,  he  could  easily  imagine  that  the  most 
innocent  speech  had  been  suggested  to  its  utterer 
by  his  own  evil  spirit,  with  an  occult  meaning 
manifest  to  him  alone. 

"Whenever  I  think  o'  the  young,"  went  on 
Uncle  Ben,  "it  seems  to  me  to  be  a  great  privi 
lege —  great  —  to  be  in  their  places.  Folks  talk 
about  gettin'  wisdom  as  they  grow  older.  Now  I 
never  took  it  that  way ;  'pears  to  me  there's  a 
wisdom  young  folks  bring  right  from  their  Father 
in  heaven." 

Maria  was  trying  a  blue  mitten  on  his  gnarled 
hand,  to  fix  upon  the  length  of  the  thumb.  She 
stroked  the  hand,  ostensibly  to  smooth  its  cover 
ing,  but  honestly,  perhaps,  as  some  admissible 
expression  of  her  father-worship. 

"An' they  have  so  many  privileges  nowadays, 
that  I  often  think  how  deservin'  of  credit  they  are 
not  to  cut  loose  from  us  an'  our  old-fashioned 
ways." 

"  I  should  think  so  !  "  muttered  Maria.  "  Pre 
cious  credit,  indeed !  " 

"There  seems  to  be  somethin'  in  relationship 
that  makes  folks  tender,  even  when  there's  nothin' 


A   MESSAGE.  307 

in  common  between  'em.  An'  whatever  they  say 
about  unthankfulness,  I'm  sure  I've  seen  more 
child'en  honorin'  their  fathers  an'  mothers  than  I've 
seen  hard-hearted."  . 

Bernard  moved  uneasily  upon  his  chair.  The 
homely  philosophy  touched  him  like  a  sting.  Was 
it  indeed  in  nature  that  a  tie  of  blood  should  pre 
suppose  kindliness?  In  this,  too,  his  denial  of 
his  own,  was  he  against  nature?  He  left  the 
family  circle  soon  after ;  the  sweetness  of  its  air 
had  become  oppressive. 

Next  day  Sarah  took  him  for  a  long  walk  over 
the  muddy  country  road,  bordered  on  either  side 
by  a  narrow  path  of  spongy  sward.  They  wanted 
to  be  alone  together,  and  the  damp  spring  air 
seemed  a  freer  medium  for  speech  than  that  within 
doors.  Bernard  was  surprised,  after  a  longer  in 
terval  of  her  presence,  to  find  that  Sarah's  position 
within  his  horizon  had  changed.  For  so  many 
weeks  had  his  eyes  been  turned  inward  upon  his 
own  diseases,  and  towards  that  misty  boundary  be 
yond  which  seemed  to  lie  the  spiritual,  that  earthly 
things  had  dropped  away  from  their  former  rela 
tion  with  him.  Sarah  was  no  longer  a  woman  of 
flesh  and  blood  whom  he  guiltily  loved ;  she  rep 
resented,  in  a  somewhat  abstract  way,  one  more  of 
the  many  goods  which  had  been  denied  him.  With 
his  growing  faith  in  spiritual  phenomena,  there 
seemed  to  have  woven  itself  over  his  eyes  a  film 


308  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

which  he  did  not  even  care  to  pierce.  He  had 
just  told  her  the  story  of  his  haunting  demon. 
Sometimes  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  ghost  might 

O  O 

be  laid  if  he  could  place  its  existence  upon  an 
other's  consciousness. 

"  O  Bernard,"  she  cried,  stopping  short  to  look 
at  him,  "  how  strange  and  dreadful  it  is  that  we 
two  should  have  walked  into  this  snare,  —  this 
spiritualism  !  Other  people  seem  to  believe  in  it, 
and  continue  to  carry  on  their  lives.  We  have 
meddled  with  it,  and  it  has  poisoned  us." 

He  looked  at  her  curiously.  "  So  you  are  bit 
ten,  too  ;  that  is  your  trouble  !  " 

Sarah  blushed  a  little.  She  had  not  meant  to 
commit  herself;  but  she  went  on  bravely,  because 
he  might  need  her  own  experience,  spoken  from  a 
still  bleeding  heart. 

"I  made  a  decision  against  my  own  conscience. 
My  conscience  seemed  to  go  to  sleep,  and  I 
believe,  though  I  was  half  way  on  the  road  to  the 
same  decision,  that  I  should  have  kept  my  clear 
ness  of  sight  if  this  jugglery  had  not  interfered." 

"  Did  you  ask  advice  ?  " 

"  I  went  to  a  medium  out  of  curiosity,  not  to 
ask  anything.  It  seemed  so  low  a  thing,  that  I 
should  have  been  ashamed  to  hint  at  one  of  my 
own  affairs.  But  he  told  me  what  had  the  ap 
pearance  of  coming  direct  from  heaven." 

"You  may  have  been  advised  by  an  evil  spirit." 


A    MESSAGE.  309 

"  Bernard,  don't !  It  makes  me  sick  to  hear  their 
queer  clap-trap  and  ignorant  definitions  of  what 
meddles  with  our  sacred  lives.  I  don't  mind 
Uncle  Ben's  talking  about  it ;  his  life  is  so  beauti 
ful  and  sheltered  that  I  don't  believe  it  can  ever 
harm  him.  With  you  it  is  different.  It  breaks 
my  heart  to  think  you  may  believe  it,  and  be  led 
away  and  destroyed." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that,  having  found  one 
flaw,  you  would  condemn  the  whole  system?  " 

"  No,  only  that  I  shall  never  meddle  with  it 
again.  If  it  is  to  be  investigated  and  immortality 
proved,  I  leave  the  deed  to  stronger  hearts  and 
wills  than  mine." 

"It  is  true,  Sarah,"  said  Bernard,  doggedly,  not 
as  if  he  greatly  cared,  but  as  if  the  truth  compelled 
him.  "  I  have  seen  what  amounts  to  scientific  dem 
onstration." 

"It  may  be  so  ;  until  my  own  share  in  it  so  dis 
gusted  me,  I  used  to  hope  it  might  be  so.  But 
this  is  the  only  conclusion  I  have  been  able  to 
reach,  —  and  I  have  had  a  great  many  dull,  still 
hours  for  thinking,  down  here.  If  it  is  a  fact,  such 
a  great  fact  can't  exist  without  tremendously  in 
fluencing  moral  relations.  Don't  you  see  that  it 
brings  into  play  all  the  strongest  emotions  we 
have  ?  Old  people  see  their  dead  through  it ; 
young,  imaginative  people  find  something  more 
bewitching  than  there  is  in  all  the  natural  world ; 


310  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

and  it  is  a  thing  which  is  unfit  to  influence  our 
moral  lives." 

Bernard  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  She  had 
changed  as  much  as  he.  Once  —  her  emotions 
light  and  iridescent  as  bubbles,  her  ideas  of  right 
and  wrong  like  inspirational  flashes  —  she  would 
never  have  formulated  her  opinions. 

"But  if  it  is  true,  why  shouldn't  it  influence 
moral  decisions  ?  "  he  suggested. 

"  Because  it  would  be  next  to  impossible  to  reach 
its  truth.  Think  what  a  chance  mediums  have  to 
lie  !  To  consult  them  is  to  place  ourselves  at  the 
mercy  of  an  ignorant,  possibly  a  designing,  set  of 
men.  And  somehow,  though  I  can't  support  it,  I 
have  a  feeling  that  we  are  intended  to  live  now 
only  in  this  world,  and  under  its  laws." 

"  But  spiritual  intercourse  may  be  an  undiscov 
ered  law.  The  fact  that  a  thing  has  not  been 
demonstrated  does  not  prove  its  non-existence  ;  I 
heard  you  say  that  once,  about  this  very  thing." 

"  It  is  true  in  theory,  I  suppose ;  it  may  be  true 
as  applied  to  this  particular  case.  I  only  feel  that 
it  would  take  the  announcement  of  an  archangel 
to  make  me  a  believer,  —  and  an  archangel  of 
solid,  reliable  flesh  and  blood,  too ! "  she  added, 
with  her  old  laugh. 

Another  theory  was  growing  up  in  her  mind, 
though  as  yet  too  much  a  matter  of  feeling  to  be 
put  in  words.  Suppose  this  were  indeed  a  truth, 


A   MESSAGE.  311 

she  thought,  and  the  universal  uncertainty  of  im 
mortality  were  to  be  quite  set  at  rest,  the  battle  of 
life  would  be  reduced  from  its  proportions  of 
deadly  struggle  to  a  harassing  fight  enough,  but 
one  assured  of  victory.  Would  earthly  warfare 
1  >e  then  as  noble  ?  Could  humanity  grow  to  such 
godlike  stature  as  that  reached  by  great  souls, 
when  its  most  gigantic  foes  should  have  proved 
phantoms?  With  her,  such  a  suggestion  had 
weight ;  the  greater  the  odds  against  which  it  coped, 
the  more  eagerly  rose  her  soul  in  bright  armor, 
crying  "  I  will  not  faint !  " 

For  Uncle  Ben,  Bernard's  coming  made  an  era ; 
(he  young  man  was  fresh  from  one  of  the  centres 
of  spiritualism,  where  signs  and  wonders  were 
of  daily  occurrence.  Then,  too,  he  brought  direct 
news  of  Leonard.  He  talked  of  it  all  as  if  it  were 
a  duty  to  answer,  being  asked,  but  he  showed  no 
especial  interest  of  his  own.  Spiritualism  in 
volved  many  an  hard  saying,  only  to  be  entertained 
because  they  were  unfortunately  true.  One  con 
versation  began  in  the  barn,  and  as  it  progressed 
in  interest,  Uncle  Ben  brought  two  milking-stools 
to  the  door,  outside  which  the  spring  sunlight  fell 
over  a  great  heap  of  brown  manure  where  the  hens 
scratched,  and  prated  of  spring.  With  the  stir 
ring  growth  of  the  season  and  the  contact  of  these 
simply  good  lives,  Bernard  felt  again  the  moving 
of  healthier  impulses  within  himself,  the  shadow 


312  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

of  a  wish  to  touch  with  his  own  hands  the  happi 
ness  that  is  goodness.  But  he  discoursed  of 
spiritual  phenomena,  and,  led  on  by  the  same 
motive  which  had  drawn  him  into  confiding  in 
Sarah,  went  on  to  speak  of  his  ghost.  Uncle  Ben 
listened,  and  at  the  end  of  the  story  sat  looking 
down  at  his  feet,  absently  chewing  a  straw. 
Finally  he  looked  up  with  a  bright  smile  that 
seemed  to  flow  in  little  runnels  all  over  his  face, 
in  the  dry  water-courses  of  wrinkles. 

"  If  I  was  you,  I  believe  I  wouldn't  have  a 
thing  more  to  do  with  circles  !  "  he  said,  placing  a 
sympathetic  hand  on  Bernard's  knee. 

tr  You,  when  you  believe  in  it !  " 

"  Yes,  I  do  believe  in  it,  sure  enough  ;  but  what's 
one  man's  meat's  another  man's  p'ison.  We  wa'n't 
all  created  to  live  in  one  climate,  else  why  should 
the  equator  ha'  been  made  ?  " 

"  But  they  told  me  to  seek  out  good  spirits  !  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  an'  so  we  all  must ;  but  we've  got  to 
use  our  common  sense,  even  if  we  are  spiritual 
ists.  Now  there  couldn't  any  spirits  do  more 
for  you  —  I  won't  say  they  couldn't  do  so  much 
—  as  new-laid  eggs,  an'  good  air,  an'  hearin'  young 
folks  laughin'." 

Bernard  had  it  on  his  tongue's  end  to  say,  "  I 
supposed  you  thought  of  nothing  else  1 "  but  he  rec 
ollected  himself,  and  forbore. 

w  It's  a  fact,  I  do  think  about  this  new  revela- 


A    MESSAGE.  313 

tion  night  an'  day,"  went  on  the  old  man,  as  if  he 
were  capable  of  mind-reading ;  "  but  that  don't 
keep  me  from  lovin'  the  good  world.  I  seem  to 
love  it  more  an'  more,  the  older  I  grow  an'  the 
likelier  to  leave  it."  He  was  looking  at  the  ever 
greens  beyond  the  orchard,  his  blue  eyes  dimmed 
with  happy  tears. 

"  Tell  me  what  to  do !  "  burst  out  Bernard, 
moved  by  an  impulse  beyond  his  control. 

''  I  wish  I  could  ;  but  I'm  as  ignorant  as  you  can 
think  !  Seems  to  me,  if  you  was  my  boy,  I  should 
want  to  get  your  body  into  a  good  nat'ral  state, 
an'  then  I  should  try  to  have  you  set  your  mind  on 
doin'  for  other  people."  He  looked  away  in  utter 
ing  the  last  sentence.  There  seemed  an  indelicacy 
in  hinting  that  the  youth  struck  him  as  being  too 
impregnated  with  fears  for  self  alone.  "Why, 
sometimes,"  he  went  on,  quickly,  "sometimes  I 
feel  such  a  love  for  the  ground,  the  dirt  under-foot, 
that  it  seems  as  if  I  must  ha'  been  born  from  it. 
The  earth  is  like  a  great,  good  mother  to  us.  You 
see,  if  you  had  a  mother  I  should  tell  you  to  go  to 
her,  an'  find  out  if  she  couldn't  make  you  well ;  as 
long  as  you  ain't,  what  is  there  better  than  goin' 
into  the  country?  No  matter  how  homely  the 
earth  is,  she'll  do  you  good,  just  as  your  mother 
could  help  you  as  nobody  else  could,  even  if  she 
was  homely  an'  old." 


314  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

"  Go  back  to  my  mother  !  "  said  Bernard,  mus 
ingly  ;  "  I  wish  I  could  !  " 

"I  wish  you  could,"  said  Uncle  Ben,  rising  to 
finish  his  work.  "  An'  if  she  was  old  an'  there  was 
things  to  do  for  her,  you'd  seem  to  stan'  on  your 
feet  right  away.  There's  nothin'  like  havin'  to  do 
for  the  folks  the  Lord's  given  you." 

There  began  in  the  younger  man's  heart  that 
day  the  least  possible  vibration  of  the  string  that 
forms  the  tie  of  blood.  Slight  though  it  might  be, 
it  was  indeed  a  recognition  of  the  sacred  duty 
arising  from  birth  and  nourishment. 

"I  am  going  back  to-morrow,  Sarah,"  he  an 
nounced,  when  they  were  next  alone  together. 
"  What  message  is  there  for  him  ?  " 

The  girl  stood  with  hands  tightly  clasped  before 
her.  "  Tell  him  —  "  she  began,  and  then  stopped. 
"  I  will  not  send  a  message,  except  that  I  am  well." 

Next  morning,  however,  when  he  was  bidding 
her  good-by,  she  gave  him  a  note. 

"  I  changed  my  mind,"  she  said.  ''  I  could  have 
given  it  to  you  by  word  of  mouth,  but  I  think  he 
will  like  it  so." 

Tnat  night  Bernard  sought  out  Stephen  as  he 
was  leaving  the  office,  and  gave  him  the  note,  say 
ing  only,  "I  have  been  down  to  see  her  for  you." 

The  flash  of  the  other  man's  eyes  was  ready  on 
the  instant ;  then  he  said,  searchingly,  "Why, 
did  you  say  ?  " 


A   MESSAGE.  315 

"  I  saw  you  were  in  misery  because  you  wanted 
to  know,  and  so  I  went  to  find  out."  The  state 
ment  was  full  of  a  studied  carelessness. 

Stephen's  hand  had  closed  upon  the  note,  which 
shook  in  his  grasp.  He  could  not  now  waste  time 
in  gratitude,  nor  even  in  loving  queries ;  he  must 
first  read  that  by  himself.  He  hurried  away,  and 
at  home  read  with  blinded  eyes  : 

"  I  begin  to  see  why  Christ  died,  for  I  would  die 
for  you  to  save  you  this  pain,  or  any  sin.  I  shall 
live,  and  so  must  you." 

The  words  were  like  wine.  He  lived  on  them 
for  hours,  and  then  went  to  Bernard,  saying 
abruptly,  as  he  entered,  "Tell  me  all  there  is  to 
tell." 

Bernard  did  so  obediently,  though  rather 
drearily.  He  described  the  people  and  the  place, 
not  knowing  Stephen  had  seen  them ;  he  repeated 
her  words,  carefully  omitting  those  which  touched 
upon  spiritualism.  Instinctively  he  felt  that  this 
one  topic  must  be  avoided,  as  being  too  closely 
connected  with  what  he  had  no  right  to  know. 
When  he  had  finished,  Stephen  rose  like  a  man  in 
a  happy  dream.  "  Good-night,"  he  said,  offering 
his  hand.  That  was  the  only  sign  that  he  knew 
how  honestly  the  other  man  had  served  him ;  but 
even  Bernard  was  sure  he  did  know. 


CHAPTER  XXTTT. 

BEYOND  RECALL. 

npHERE  came  a  day  when  sorrow  and  confusion 
-•-  swept  down  upon  the  peaceful  house  at 
Coventry.  Maria  had  what  she  called  one  of  her 
"turns,"  and  in  the  midst  of  it  her  life  went  out 
like  a  candle. 

"He  does  take  it  hard,  don't  he,"  whispered 
Aunt  Lomie  to  Sarah,  eying  Uncle  Ben  with  some 
awe.  "  I  always  had  it  in  mind  he'd  be  calm,"  with 
an  audible  "1,"  which  added  to  the  force  of  the 
word.  "  He  seemed  so  somehow  lifted  up  by  be- 
lievin'  on  unnat'ral  things.  But  he's  human, 
after  all." 

Ah,  he  was  indeed  human,  lost  in  speculation 
on  the  workings  of  a  law  beyond  his  grasp. 
Loneliness  seized  upon  him,  that  of  the  young 
child  without  the  mother,  of  the  husband  without 
the  wife.  There  had  been  greater  than  a  filial 
bond  between  them ;  the  relation  had  been  a  deep 
and  clinging  friendship. 

"  My  faith  don't  fail  me,  not  a  mite,"  he  said, 
with  a  pitiful  smile.  "I  know  she's  passed  over 
into  the  spirit  life,  but  she  ain't  here  !  " 

Aunt  Lomie,  most  conscientious  of  women,  es- 

316 


BEYOND   RECALL.  317 

sayed  comfort  by  the  aid  of  the  faith  she  despised. 
"Benjamin,  time  an'  again  you've  said  they're  all 
round  us,  —  dead  folks,  you  know.  Accordin'  to 
that,  Maria  ain't  gone  away." 

"No,"  said  the  old  man,  a  glow  sweeping  over 
his  face.  "  No,  she  ain't  gone,  an'  I  thank  my 
God  for  His  mercy  in  not  lettin'  us  die  down  into 
the  dust  forever !  But  somehow  I  ain't  able  to 
feel  calm,  Lomie,  not  yet.  Maybe  the  evil 
spirits  have  got  dominion  over  me." 

Leonard  was  summoned,  and  Biker  gave  an  im 
mediate  consent  to  his  going.  There  was  now  no 
reason  for  keeping  the  boy  away. 

When  the  funeral  was  over,  the  near  future 
arranged  itself,  with  Aunt  Lomic's  help.  She 
proposed  that  Uncle  Ben  should  make  one  of  her 
household.  Sarah  saw  him  shrink,  before  she 
took  up  the  word  and  answered  for  him. 

"  If  you  will  let  me  stay  !  There  is  very  little 
work  that  I  cannot  do." 

Uncle  Ben  made  no  civil  demur;  he  wanted 
her,  and  believed  in  her  sincerity.  w  I  seem  to  be 
greatly  favored,"  was  all  he  said ;  and  Sarah  be 
came  his  housekeeper.  Personal  intercourse  with 
Leonard  was  what  she  would  have  dreaded,  had 
she  been  warned  of  it ;  coming  unexpectedly  as  it 
did,  she  was  surprised  at  bearing  it  so  well,  and 
hating  him  so  little.  To  her  shame  at  having 
been  influenced  by  him,  had  been  added  a  disgust 


318  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

at  remembering  that  he  must  have  been  of  common 
fibre.  As  one  is  apt  to  do  after  a  distance  of  time, 
she  had  allowed  her  inclination  to  wash  out  the 
tints  of  memory,  before  fancy  painted  thereon  a 
new  image.  The  Leonard  she  remembered  was  a 
coarse  creature,  the  contact  of  whose  mind  had 
soiled  hers  ;  the  Leonard  she  saw  with  her  bodily 
eyes  awoke,  against  her  will,  the  mysterious  con 
fidence  she  had  previously  felt  in  him.  It  was  not 
to  be  explained,  this  efiect  he  still  produced  on 
minds  as  far  above  his  own  as  he  above  the  oyster 
that  contributed  to  his  dinner.  In  spite  of  his 
growing  faults  of  character,  men  felt  in  him  an 
intrinsic  sincerity  and  simple  reverence  for  high 
things.  In  those  days  of  his  stay  in  Coventry, 
Sarah  repeatedly  saw  him  at  the  little  kitchen 
mirror  anxiously  disposing  his  hair,  spreading  his 
blue  tie  in  more  luxurious  abandon,  and  pulling 
his  extensive  watch-chain  a  trifle  this  way  or  that, 
but,  strange  to  say,  she  never  despised  him.  She 
told  herself  over  and  over  again  that  he  must  be 
classed  either  as  a  clever  deceiver,  or  the  instru 
ment  of  some  mysterious  law.  There  was  quite 
as  much  reason  for  placing  him  in  the  first  cate 
gory  as  in  the  second,  and  yet  she  believed  in  his 
simple  tenderness  to  Uncle  Ben,  his  unrestrained 
sorrow  over  his  dead  friend,  and  his  bashful  rev 
erence  for  herself. 

On  the  night  after  the  funeral,  the   three  sat 


BEYOND   RECALL.  319 

alone  in  the  dusk.  Aunt  Lomie  had  lingered  to 
put  things  in  order  after  the  great  funeral  supper, 
and  the  boys  had  done  the  "  chores,"  with  some 
undefined  feeling  that  Uncle  Ben  had  been  physi 
cally  incapacitated  by  his  trouble.  But  now  even 
these  had  gone,  and  left  the  inner  circle  alone  to 
adapt  itself  to  its  woful  break. 

"I've  been  wishin'  for  this  all  day,"  began  Uncle 
Ben,  with  the  smile  which  had  lost  its  brightness 
for  a  sad  patience.  "Lenny,  I  guess  we'll  have  a 
little  circle." 

"Oh,  no,  I  wouldn't ;  not  to-night ! " 

But  the  old  man  was  busy  in  drawing  two  chairs 
nearer  the  sofa  where  Sarah  was  sitting.  Leon 
ard  unwillingly  took  one  as  Uncle  Ben  did  the 
other. 

"You  don't  need  a  table,  do  you?  We  used  to 
bo  so  careful  to  draw  round  a  table,  but  that  was 
in  early  days.  You  don't  mind  our  talkin'  while 
the  influences  gather?  We  might  sing,  but  I 
guess  we  don't  any  of  us  feel  as  if  we'd  got  much 
voice  to-night." 

"No,  talk,"  answered  Leonard.  He  felt  a  little 
sick  at  the  prospect.  He  was  tired  of  exercising 
his  trade,  and  would  gladly  have  rested  from 
it;  more  than  that,  he  was  conscious  of  a  creeping 
dread  in  the  thought  of  summoning  Aunt  Maria 
from  the  link  no  wn  land.  The  dead  we  have  never 
seen,  the  dead  who  have  lain  years  in  their  graves, 


320  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

may  be  safely  dealt  with ;  the  dead  one  has  just 
looked  upon  in  the  majesty  of  sleep,  bear  an  awful 
distinctness  of  personality.  Sarah  added  a  dis 
suading  voice.  In  her  pity  for  Uncle  Ben,  she 
could  not  refuse  sharing  the  experience,  if  he 
should  insist.  Her  own  righteous  anger  against 
the  whole  system  gave  way  to  the  necessity  of 
nursing  him  through  his  trouble. 

"  The  quickest  time's  the  best  time,"  Uncle  Ben 
said.  He  had  lowered  his  voice,  that  it  might  not 
disturb  the  crystallizing  of  influences.  The  tone 
and  the  twilight  made  the  moment  impressive. 
"  How  often  we  hear  about  their  waitin'  round  for 
a  chance  to  communicate,  an'  not  gettin'  it  for 
years  an'  years  !  Now  how  hard  that  seems,  an' 
how  careful  we  ought  to  be  to  open  the  way  to 
'em ! " 

Leonard  was  growing  more  and  more  sick  with 
dread.  He  had  an  insane  impulse  to  rush  from  the 
room,  never  to  come  back.  Vain  as  he  was, 
wholly  as  he  believed  Eiker's  assertion  that  he  was 
one  of  the  great  men  of  the  age,  he  was  writhing 
under  the  consciousness  that  too  much  was  ex 
pected  of  him.  Had  it  not  been  that  the  day  had 
inspired  him  with  awe,  and  a  loving  tenderness  for 
Uncle  Ben,  he  might  have  begged  off,  with  the 
peevishness  of  a  child.  As  it  was,  he  only  dared 
sit  in  silent  misery,  waiting  for  things  to  take  their 
course. 


BEYOND    KECAUL.  321 

"  Anything  yet,  Lenny  ?  " 

"No,  nothing." 

"We  mustn't  be  downhearted," went  on  Uncle 
Ben,  some  of  his  old  brightness  of  demeanor 
returning  with  the  impatience  he  could  not  curb. 
"  I  had  a  feelin'  Maria  would  be  right  back,  but 
perhaps  she  ain't  got  her  bearin's  yet.  Sometimes 
they  don't  get  into  a  sphere  where  they  can  com 
municate  for  a  good  while,  but  I  thought  Maria 
would  be  round  with  the  rest,  right  away.  She's 
so  chirk,  she'll  never  lay  by  if  she  can  help  it." 

Sarah  felt  the  choking  of  a  great  pity,  a  wish 
to  save  him  from  such  magic.  Deception  would 
make  him  happy ;  but  though  she  wanted  him 
happy,  she  could  not  have  him  deceived.  She 
almost  smiled  at  her  own  childishness  when  she 
caught  herself  repeating  under  her  breath,  "Oh, 
let  it  be  true  !  Let  it  be  true,  just  for  him  I  " 

"It's  no  use,  pa,"  said  Leonard,  after  half  an 
hour's  silence,  when  he  had  suffered  an  agony  of 
suspense  too  great  to  be  borne  longer.  "  It's  no 
use.  Give  it  up  ! " 

"Do  you  think  so?"  with  great  wistfulness. 
"Perhaps  you're  too  anxious  yourself;  perhaps, 
bcin'  so  fond  of  her,  you  can't  give  yourself  up  to 
control.  You  just  try  a  minute  more,  an'  pre 
tend  not  to  care,  if  you  can.  —  Hear  me  tellin'  a 
great  medium  how  to  do ! "  he  added,  apologet 
ically,  with  a  nervous  laugh. 


322  FOOLS    OF   NATUEE. 

Leonard  wretchedly  set  himself  to  his  task. 
He  tried  to  clear  his  mind  of  thought  and  fear, 
and  did  succeed  in  so  blurring  them  that  they  re 
mained  only  as  vague  and  general  pain.  No,  the 
shadows  in  the  room  were  the  honest  shadows  of 
this  world,  enfolding  no  pale  shapes  from  another. 
He  heard  the  ticking  of  the  clock,  but  no  spirit 
whispered.  Even  the  wraith  that  had  haunted 
him  from  childhood,  figment  of  his  brain  or  vis 
itant  from  another  world,  even  she  was  not  pres 
ent.  The  reality  of  things,  the  solidity,  embod 
ied  by  the  heavy  old  furniture,  oppressed  him  as 
they  had  never  done  in  all  his  life.  Much  as  his 
very  marrow  shrank  at  thought  of  her,  he  would 
have  given  all  his  small  fame  for  the  power  of  con 
juring  up  the  spirit  the  old  man  awaited. 

''It's  no  use,  I  tell  you ! "  he  broke  out  at  last, 
with  a  cry.  "  I  can't  do  it,  pa ;  I  can't  I " 

"Well,  well,  never  mind!  don't  you  feel  bad. 
It'll  come  ;  she  ain't  got  her  bearin's  yet.  She'll 
be  round  before  we  know  it." 

Sarah  brought  the  lights,  and  made  a  great  stir 
of  excitement  over  Trot,  who  was  discovered  to 
have  carried  her  four  kittens  in  from  the  barn  and 
surreptitiously  put  them  to  bed  in  Uncle  Ben's 
room.  What  with  Trot's  underhand  ways  and  the 
charms  of  her  Maltese  family,  the  evening  passed 
not  too  dismally,  and  there  came  the  blessed  time 
for  sleep. 


BEYOND   RECALL.  323 

Next  morning  Uncle  Ben  said  at  table,  "You 
won't  go  back  yet,  Lenny,  now  will  you?  An' 
every  night  we'll  have  a  sittin'.  We've  got  to  be 
faithful,  or  how  can  we  expect  them  that  are  in 
the  spirit  life  to  keep  us  in  mind,  an'  wait  for  their 
chance  to  come  ?  " 

Leonard  murmured  something  unintelligible  ;  but 
receiving  a  letter  from  Riker  that  forenoon,  he  an 
nounced  that  he  must  return  on  the  evening  train . 
It  was  true  that  Riker  had,  on  the  contrary,  given 
him  permission  to  remain  some  days,  the  real  rea 
son,  which  it  is  needless  to  say  he  did  not  state, 
being  a  new  attempt  at  some  daring  departures 
in  the  way  of  materialization.  His  pupil,  not 
being  as  yet  his  accomplice,  would  only  be  in  the 
way.  Leonard,  however,  stoutly  declared  that 
he  must  be  gone.  He  felt  unable  to  bear  another 
word  of  importunity. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

FOUR  THREADS. 

HHHE  tableau  that  confronted  Stephen  Mann  as 
he  entered  Miss  Phebe's  parlor  one  evening, 
did  not  astonish  him.  Used  to  Linora's  dramatic 
climaxes,  he  was  passively  expectant  of  them. 
She  was  kneeling  by  a  large  chair,  in  which  Miss 
Phebe  had  evidently  been  sitting.  That  lady  was 
now  seated  on  a  sofa  at  the  farthest  possible  point 
from  Linora,  bolt-upright,  her  hands  on  her  knees, 
her  face  wearing  an  indescribable  confusion  of 
expressions.  Stephen  hesitated  on  the  threshold. 

"I  came  to  make  you  a  call,  Miss  Phebe,"  and 
Miss  Phebe  starkly  motioned  him  to  a  seat.  Lin 
ora  rose  from  her  posture  of  humility  with  great 
self-possession. 

"I  wish  you  had  come  earlier,  Mr.  Mann,"  she 
said,  sweetly.  "  Miss  Phebe  has  received  a  great 
shock." 

Miss  Phebe's  eyes  began  to  glow  with  wrath. 
"  I  have  ;  a  great  shock.  I  don't  know  as  I  shall 
ever  believe  in  anybody  again." 

"Oh,  yes,"  Linora  said  ;  "believe  in  me  !  " 

Something  of  the  grim  humor  of  the  situation 
seemed  to  strike  Miss  Phebe  also.  She  smiled 

324 


FOUR  THREADS.  325 

slightly,  and  Linora,  seeing  the  opportunity,  made 
haste  to  put  in  a  wedge. 

"Miss  Phebe's  kindness  has  made  me  so 
ashamed,"  she  continued,  her  delicate  nostrils  dilat 
ing,  her  fine  eyes  growing  suffused,  "that  I  felt 
obliged  to  confess  to  her  that  I  am,  to  speak 
mildly,  a  little  humbug."  At  the  close  of  her  sen 
tence,  catching  Stephen's  glance,  she  could  not 
restrain  a  smile  of  genuine  mirth,  and  Stephen 
found  himself  answering  it.  Her  effrontery  con 
tinued  infinitely  to  amuse  him. 

"  I  hope  Miss  Phebe  makes  some  allowance  for 
the  temptations  of  a  dramatic  temperament,"  he 
remarked. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  make  allowance  for ;  I 
don't  know  whom  I  believe.  Yes,  I  do ;  I  believe 
in  your  wife.  How  is  she?  where  is  she? " 

"Well,  and  away  with  some  quiet  people  in  the 
country." 

"  So  she  has  been  for  weeks,"  said  Linora,  com- 
plainingly.  "  Is  she  never  coming  home  ?  " 

Stephen  was  saved  from  the  necessity  of  answer 
ing  by  Miss  Phebe.  She  had  evidently  thought  for 
no  one  but  Linora ;  she  could  not  take  her  eyes 
from  her.  "  And  you've  had  your  own  way  and 
been  comfortable  all  this  winter !  and  I've  been 
awake  night  after  night,  almost  saying  my  prayers 
for  you  !  Mr.  Mann,  you'll  have  to  excuse  me. 
Come  another  day.  I  must  go  up  stairs  and  settle 


326  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

my  head."  She  left  the  room  precipitately,  shak 
ing  the  head  in  question  as  she  went.  Left  alone, 
Stephen  and  Linora  smiled  again,  though  his  look 
contained  a  real  and  grave  reproof. 

"Linora,  why  don't  you  take  less  honest  people 
to  humbug,  if  you  must  do  it?" 

"  I  wouldn't  have  done  it  for  the  world,  if  I'd 
thought.  But  honestly,  now,  I  didn't  realize  that 
such  good  people  existed.  Uncle  Will  is  respect 
able  enough,  but  he  has  a  spice  of  the  unmention 
able  one  which  makes  him  kin  to  me,  and  J  never 
have  much  compunction  about  deceiving  him." 

"  Why  confess  ?  " 

Linora  made  her  eyes  very  large  and  her  mouth 
very  small.  "  There  was  a  reason,"  she  whispered, 
solemnly.  "  My  uncle,  I  am  convinced,  is  about 
to  marry  a  wife.  That  wife  will  be  —  Miss  Phebe  ! " 

"  Impossible  I  " 

"  I  saw  his  intentions ;  I  saw  that  she  tried  to 
smother  her  preference,  because  she  had  precon 
ceived  ideas  about  him,  gathered  from  my  airy 
fabrics  of  fancy.  If  I  had  been  his  rival,  I  should 
have  gloated  over  my  hold  on  her.  Being  his 
niece,  I  preferred  placing  myself  in  an  unfavor 
able  light,  that  his  suit  might  prosper." 

"  You're  a  very  generous  creature,"  said  Stephen, 
dryly. 

"  Not  altogether  so,"  returned  Linora,  with  great 
impartiality.  "I  had  reasons  of  a  prudential  na- 


FOUR    THREADS.  327 

ture.  I  realized  that  love  would  win.  Love  usually 
does  win,  you  know.  And  in  the  confidence  ex 
isting  between  husband  and  wife,  Uncle  Will  would 
be  sure  to  give  her  my  mental  photograph.  I  pre 
ferred  giving  it  myself.  And  then  I  enjoyed  the 
surprise.  Mr.  Mann,  do  you  think  your  wife 
hates  me  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  she  does  in  the  least,"  returned 
Stephen,  restraining  his  hand  from  its  quick  move 
ment  towards  his  throat.  He  wished  at  least  for 
freedom  from  the  constriction  that  answered  there 
the  mention  of  her  name. 

"  Do  you  think  she  will  see  me  when  she  comes 
back?" 

"  Certainly ;  she  would  have  done  so  before  she 
went  away,  but  she  decided  suddenly.  Do  you 
ever  meet  Bernard  now  ?  " 

"Never ;  and  he  has  moved,  you  know." 

Stephen  did  not  know  it,  and,  wondering  if  the 
reason  might  lie  altogether  in  avoidance  of  Linora, 
it  occurred  to  him  that,  so  far  as  his  knowledge 
of  Bernard's  whereabouts  was  concerned,  the  man 
might  be  buried  every  night,  to  be  resurrected  at 
the  office  hour.  He  could  not  forget  the  service 
Bernard  had  done  him ;  that  had  built  up  in  his 
mind  an  enduring  gratitude.  He  was  conscious 
that  he  could  never  like  him,  and  the  thought 
clung  to  him  like  an  irritating  reminder  that,  for 
Sarah's  sake,  he  must  not  lose  sight  of  him.  As 


328  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

some  concession  to  a  requirement  that  was  distaste 
ful,  next  night  he  walked  away  from  the  office 
with  him.  The  haunted  man  had  wofully  changed 
since  his  return  from  Coventry.  He  had  seen  in 
Uncle  Ben's  words  the  green  fields  and  brilliant 
skies  of  a  new  land  of  hope ;  the  possibility  of 
not  sinking  in  these  dark  waters,  but  of  reaching 
the  shore.  Such  a  first  trembling  of  hope,  instead 
of  quieting  the  fever  of  his  blood,  shook  him 
painfully.  He  had  been  sinking  in  despair ;  hav 
ing  resigned  his  will  to  the  machinations  of  evil, 
he  had  little  more  to  suffer  with  the  old  acuteness. 
Visions  might  press  upon  his  eyelids,  but  the  dull 
eyes  beneath  would  only  feel  an  accustomed  weight. 
If,  however,  he  must  force  his  way  through  these 
forms  of  horror  to  a  possible  goal,  his  eyes  must 
be  fully  opened  upon  the  phantoms,  the  brain 
must  be  roused  to  comprehend  them.  Thus  a 
new  warfare  had  begun  within  him. 

"Your  work  wears  on  you,"  said  Stephen. 
" Or  is  it  the  hot  weather? " 

"  It  is  the  impossibility  of  living.  Mann,  the 
whole  universe  sickens  me  ! " 

"I  should  like  to  see  you  in  some  practical 
trouble.  Forge  a  note,  or  go  out  West  and  get 
scalped.  Then  you  might  not  devote  so  much 
time  to  the  pleasures  of  the  imagination." 

Bernard  scarcely  heard  him.  "To  think  of  all 
things  as  noisome,  as  containing  a  horror ! "  he 


FOUK    TIIKEAD8.  329 

mused.  w  To  be  compelled  to  that,  and  yet  not 
dare  to  die,  for  fear  the  one  spark  of  hope  you  had 
might  have  been  justified." 

Stephen  thought  of  his  own  desolate  home,  of 
the  common  pleasures  which  would  be  sufficient  to 
fill  him  with  a  heart-breaking  joy.  "  What  do  you 
chiefly  complain  of?  "  he  asked. 

"  Of  having  no  part  in  what  is  clean,  and  healthy, 
and  fair ;  of  a  ridiculous  body  and  a  filthy  mind ;  of 
being  haunted  by  a  ghost  that  I  see  plainly,  — 
plainer  than  I  see  anything  real,  nowadays." 

"  Ellis,"  said  Stephen,  with  a  sudden  thought, 
"  how  should  you  like  to  go  West  and  raise  stock  ?  " 

"  The  air  is  cleaner  there ;  it  has  not  been 
polluted  by  the  breath  of  men." 

"  I  have  a  stock-farm  out  there,  and  I  used  to 
think  of  going  myself.  It  is  leased  to  John 
O'Brien,  and  his  lease  expires  in  November.  If 
you  like,  you  shall  take  it  and  manage  it  for  me. 
O'Brien  would  probably  stay  some  months  to  get 
you  started." 

"Do  you  mean  that  I  could  work,  and  earn 
money  honestly  ?  " 

"I  mean  just  that.  For  heaven's  sake,  doa't 
keep  on  accusing  me  of  being  a  charity  bureau." 

"  I'll  go  ;  that  is,  unless  I  am  wanted  at  home. 
I  must  find  my  mother  first,  and  see  if  she  needs 
me.  If  she  does,  I  shall  settle  among  my  own 
people,  —  working  men  and  women." 


330  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

"  And  what  to  do  there  ?  " 

"  Learn  a  trade,  it  may  be." 

"Stuff!  "said  Stephen.  Mr.  Gale  had  over 
taken  them,  and  Bernard,  not  stopping  to  exchange 
a  word  with  him,  disappeared  round  a  near  corner. 

"Peculiar,  your  friend?"  asked  Gale,  with  a 
whimsical  lifting  of  his  brows. 

"Peculiar." 

"  I  seem  to  remember  him.  Wasn't  he  present 
at  the  dramatic  disclosures  at  your  house  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"The  social  world,  that  small  orb  we  all  have 
to  deal  with,  seems  to  me  more  and  more  worthy 
of  study.  I  discover  queer  breaks  in  its  spectrum 
every  day,  indicating,  no  doubt,  new  elements. 
I  begin  to  regret  writing  a  history  of  races.  It 
would  have  been  of  more  interest  to  make  a  social 
study." 

"A  novel?" 

"  No,  a  disquisition,  an  analytic  comparison  of 
strange  elements  in  character.  Mann,  I  am  under 
the  impression,  though  it  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  present  subject,  that  I  am  to  be  married." 

"  I  congratulate  you.  Nobody  deserves  happi 
ness  more." 

"Many,  my  dear  fellow,  many  do;  but  I  con 
sider  myself  very  fortunate.  I  feel,  too,  that  the 
preliminary  stage  has  had  a  good  effect  on  me. 
Do  you  see  no  change  in  my  manner  ?  " 


FOUR   THREADS.  331 

w  A  great  change ;  I  was  about  to  remark  it. 
It  strikes  me  that  you  have  brightened,  lost  your 
indifference." 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  have  ;  I  feel  freshened,  invigo 
rated.  The  lady  —  I  forgot  to  tell  you  it  is  Miss 
Phcbc  —  has  all  the  effect  of  old  wine  on  me.  No, 
I  withdraw  the  comparison,  —  of  good,  stout  old 
cider." 

Stephen  wondered  how  much  in  earnest  he  might 
be.  Judging  from  his  word  and  air,  he  was  en 
tirely  so. 

"I  see  in  her,"  continued  Gale,  "a  vista  of 
healthy,  happy  things.  Still  keeping  up  the 
simile  of  cider,  I  see  great  plump-cheeked  apples, 
and  a  carnival  of  harvest  time ;  I  see  pink  blos 
soms,  and  a  pageant  of  spring." 

Much  as  he  admired  Miss  Phebe,  Stephen  could 
not  help  wondering  that  she  should  prove  such 
an  efficient  guide  into  regions  of  poetry. 

"  I  am  sure  she  will  be  good  for  you,"  he  said. 
"  She  is  hearty  and  wholesome.  I  always  feel 
that  seeing  her  is  like  breathing  good  air." 

w  I  confess  I  have  lingered  here  entirely  on  her 
account,"  said  Gale,  evidently  much  interested  in 
his  own  state  of  feeling.  "  I  haven't  thought  of 
womankind  since  I  was  in  my  early  twenties.  I 
felt  in  her  from  the  very  first  a  sort  of  repression ; 
I  was  sure  she  had  a  thousand  springs  of  concealed 
romance  in  her  nature.  I  think  she  has." 


332  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

He  seemed  to  have  become  ten  years  younger. 
Stephen  devoted  his  thoughts,  for  the  rest  of  his 
walk,  to  the  rejuvenating  power  of  love.  How 
long  could  he  follow  the  course  of  fancy  in  regard 
to  the  romance  between  any  man  and  woman,  with 
out  touching  on  his  own  tragedy?  Love  had 
changed  Gale  as  completely  as  if  some  veil  had 
been  drawn  away  from  his  earthly  garments,  dis 
closing  the  gorgeous  apparel  of  a  shining  young 
bridegroom. 

What  deed  had  Love  wrought  in  his  own  life  ? 
She  had  led  him  into  a  fair  country,  by  gently 
flowing  streams,  where  he  might  bathe  from  his 
limbs  the  dust  of  travel  and  pollution.  And  in  a 
moment  the  heavens  had  frowned,  the  flood  had 
pursued  him  ;  Love  had  left  him  in  a  barren  land 
of  sand  and  darkness.  A  great  wave  of  pity  for 
himself  surged  over  him  as  he  entered  his  house 
that  night.  He  half  expected  to  find  a  letter  from 
her.  Though  she  had  said  she  would  not  write, 
the  world  seemed  to  have  come  to  a  stand-still,  and 
miracles  might  follow.  No  letter  was  there.  Try 
ing  to  smile  at  himself  for  his  weakness,  he  went 
from  room  to  room  looking  for  a  token.  He 
opened  her  closets,  and  pressed  her  dresses  to  his 
lips  with  a  despairing  prayer  for  some  breath  of 
hers  left  in  their  folds.  In  vain ;  the  house  was 
desolate.  He  tried  to  reason  himself  into  a  san 
ity  of  endurance,  by  remembering  that  she  was 


FOUR    THREADS.  333 

still  alive,  that  not  many  miles  divided  them,  and, 
if  his  heart  and  will  failed  utterly,  he  might  creep 
there  to  her  feet.  No  help  in  that !  If  he  broke 
his  pledge  of  abiding  by  her  decision,  he  was  no 
more  worthy  even  to  lie  there. 

Sometimes,  closing  the  house  seemed  the  only 
possible  thing  to  do.  Living  there  held  in  it  but 
an  agony  of  comfort.  Her  presence  still  lingered 
there  as  it  could  nowhere  else,  but  as  nowhere  else 
her  absence  stung  him.  And  it  might  be — a 
pitiful  sob  rose  in  his  throat  at  that  —  it  might  be 
she  would  return,  and  then  her  hearth  must  be 
found  lighted. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

BERNARD   GOES   HOME. 

day  it  happened  that  Linora  and  Stephen 
met  on  their  way  across  the  Common,  and 
that  she  made  his  path  her  own,  saying  frankly 
that,  as  he  walked  presumably  for  business  and  she 
for  pleasure,  it  was  only  fair  that  she  should  make 
the  concession. 

"Needs  must,"  she  said,  skipping  over  a  puddle 
with  great  dexterity,  "since  a  certain  estimable 
person  has  become  my  coachman.  If  I  want 
company,  I  have  to  swallow  my  pride  and  go  out 
of  my  path  to  get  it.  By  the  way,  that  worthy 
brother-in-law  of  yours  avoids  me  as  the  plague. 
Where  is  he?" 

"  At  this  moment  ?  In  niy  office.  To-morrow 
he  goes  down  to  Freeport,  to  visit  his  mother." 

"  Really  ?  "  Linora  stopped  an  instant,  and  then 
went  on,  with  a  somewhat  soberer  face.  "Still 
sentimental  over  certain  ideas  ?  " 

Stephen  shrugged  his  shoulders,  with  a  look 
which  might  mean  anything.  Incapable  of  sym 
pathy  with  Bernard's  diseased  views  as  he  pro 
nounced  himself,  he  still  felt  the  demands  of  a 
certain  loyalty  concerning  them. 

334 


BERNARD   GOES   HOME.  335 

"Do  you  know,  I  think  I  must  see  him  before 
he  goes,"  she  continued.  "  But  then  I  can't ;  he 
won't  come,  if  I  ask  him.  Why  do  all  you  people 
regard  me  as  a  leper  because  you  think  I  tell  lies  ? 
And  after  all,  it's  only  your  thinking  so  that  makes 
the  mischief.  I  don't  half  believe  I  do  !  " 

"  And  I  don't  believe  you  believe  so.  I'll  wager 
much,  your  conscience  is  white  as  any  lamb.  As 
to  Bernard,  besiege  the  castle  if  you  like.  You 
can  see  him  alone  in  the  office.  I  hope  I'm  not 
offending  any  special  propriety  by  suggesting  it." 

"  I  hope  not !  Yes,  I  do  like.  I'll  go  with  you 
now,  if  you  let  me." 

Stephen  opened  the  door,  and  left  her  to  make 
an  entrance.  Bernard  sat  with  his  head  very  low 
over  his  desk,  not  meditating  on  the  morrow's  step, 
but  studiously  writing  up  the  correspondence,  that 
he  might  leave  his  work  square  at  the  ends.  Lin- 
ora  closed  the  door,  put  the  point  of  her  parasol 
on  the  floor,  and,  resting  both  hands  on  it,  said 
dramatically,  "Well!" 

Bernard  looked  up  with  the  start  she  mischiev 
ously  expected,  his  face  instantly  taking  its  brick- 
red  suffusion. 

"Promise  not  to  basely  run  away,  if  I  leave  the 
door  ? "  she  asked  with  her  air  of  good-comrade 
ship.  Where  was  the  pale,  Madonna-like  creature  ? 
Not  certainly  this  little  thing,  in  a  gay  spring  cos 
tume,  with  a  striped  umbrella.  Bernard  was 


336  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

nervously  rolling  his  pen  between  his  thumb  and 
finger.  Now  he  rose  and  drew  forward  a  chair, 
hesitating  beside  his  own  seat  while  she  took  the 
other. 

"  Sit  down,  please,"  said  Linora,  graciously 
transforming  the  office  into  her  own  reception 
room.  "  I've  come  for  a  serious  talk  with  you. 
I  hear  you  are  going  away  to-morrow." 

"  Yes,"  said  Bernard,  with  difficulty.  Noting 
the  huskiness  of  his  voice,  he  vigorously  cleared 
his  throat,  and  sat  down  with  resolute  hardihood. 

"  Now  you  know  I  know  all  your  fancies  and  all 
your  whims,"  Linora  continued,  with  a  cheerful 
ness  of  wholesale  accusation  which  promised  to 
leave  him  no  loop-hole  of  escape.  "  But  I  wish 
you'd  tell  me  further  why  you  should  go  down 
there  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  your  mother 
after  twenty  years  or  so." 

"  To  find  out  whether  I  belong  there  ;  to  learn 
whether  I  can  work  out  something,  in  the  class 
where  I  belong,  from  which  my  diseases  spring." 

"You  think  so,  but  it  is  nothing  of  the  sort." 
The  assault  was  so  vigorous  that  he  looked  up  at 
her  in  surprise.  "  You  are  going  down  to  patron 
ize  them ! " 

After  this  extraordinary  statement,  she  looked 
at  him  in  silent  enjoyment  of  its  effect.  Bernard 
only  repeated  her  words. 

w  Yes,"  she  went  on.     "  I've  been  meaning  to  tell 


BERNARD   GOES    HOME.  337 

you,  ever  since  last  winter,  what  an  abominable 
way  you  have  of  throwing  your  sins  on  other 
people's  shoulders.  You  used  to  tell  me  you  were 
a  monster ;  I  daresay  you  are,  but  for  heaven's 
sake  don't  cast  all  the  credit  of  your  monstrosity 
on  your  ancestors.  I  suppose  your  nose  and 
eyes  you  were  born  with,  but  do  give  yorself  the 
credit  of  committing  your  own  sins."  Linora  was 
enjoying  herself,  confident  that  she  was  producing 
an  effect..  It  is  true  that  she  had  an  honest  pur 
pose  in  mind,  but  she  could  no  more  help  seeing  it 
through  the  medium  of  its  action  on  another  mind 
than  she  could  help  breathing.  "  You  think  you 
are  making  a  great  sacrifice  in  going  down  there  to 
present  yourself  to  your  relatives.  I  don't ;  no 
right-minded  person  would.  The  obligation  is  on 
the  other  side.  They've  done  without  you  all  these 
years,  and  no  doubt  they  are  enjoying  themselves 
very  well.  If  they  take  you  in  and  put  up  with 
your  whims,  I'm  sure  it's  very  kind  of  them,  and 
the  nobility  is  their  own.  I'm  going  now ;  don't 
look  dazed.  I  only  came  in  to  tell  you  not  to  pat 
ronize  them." 

When  she  reached  the  street  and  put  up  the 
gorgeous  umbrella,  Linora  also  offered  a  slight 
smile  to  the  sunlit  day. 

"  I  flatter  myself  that  was  well  done,"  she  re 
marked  to  her  inner  hearer.  "A  very  good  part, 
and  exceedingly  like  Miss  Phebe.  Indeed,  I 


338  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

think  I  not  only  said  what  Miss  Phebe  would  have 
said,  but  as  she  would  have  delivered  it." 

Do  not  think  too  hardly  of  Linora  if  she  could 
not  separate  her  enjoyment  of  the  shows  of  life 
from  the  serious  matters  of  life  itself.  How  could 
she,  when  the  importance  of  her  own  amusement 
had  grown  to  be  of  primary  value  ?  Possibly,  if  she 
could  have  seen  the  true,  she  might  have  chosen  its 
severe  beauty  ;  but  alas  !  there  is  no  pit  of  distinct 
demarcation  between  it  and  the  false.  The  soul 
does  not  often  say,  "I  will  tell  a  lie  ;  "  merely,  at 
most,  "How  pleasant  if  things  could  look  so  !  "  or 
"  How  necessary  ! "  —  and  presently  the  eye  sees  it, 
and  the  tongue  declares  it  thus.  There  is  appar 
ently  nothing  so  fraught  with  unconsciousness  as 
lying. 

Meantime,  Bernard  was  left  to  feel  the  uncom 
fortable  pricking  of  the  little  germ  she  had  dropped. 
Whether  it  might  be  a  germ  of  truth  or  not,  it 
certainly  contained  an  atom  of  justice  which  had 
not  before  occurred  to  him.  Even  after  he  had 
sufficiently  recalled  himself  to  go  on  with  his 
work,  his  mind  continued  its  brooding,  its  attempt 
at  reducing  his  new  purpose  to  some  distinct  form 
ula.  "  I  have  chosen  to  go  because  my  place  is 
there ;  because  I  am  unfit  for  the  class  of  people 
into  which  I  have  found  my  way,"  he  answered 
himself,  with  the  aid  of  his  previous  theories.  All 
vague,  much  too  vague  to  bear  utterance. 


BERNARD   GOES    HOME.  339 

He  had  greatly  changed  in  the  past  weeks,  ever 
since  that  green  spring  morning  with  Uncle  Ben. 
His  will  was  as  weak,  his  fancies  diseased  as 
before,  but  the  alert  imagination,  having  caught 
at  that  vision  of  hope  suggested  by  the  old  man, 
had  reanimated  him  for  a  struggle.  Vague  as  the 
intention  sounds,  he  was  in  reality  going  down  to 
give  himself  to  his  people,  to  become  one  of  them. 
After  Linora  suggested  it,  the  truth  remained  with 
him  that,  after  all,  he  had  nothing  to  offer  worth 
the  taking.  Worn  in  body,  incapable  even  of 
using  his  eyes  without  deception,  stained  in 
thought,  he  was  the  wreck  of  the  perfect  man. 
On  their  part,  she  had  said,  would  be  the  nobility 
in  receiving  him.  Be  it  there  :  he  would  go  to  be 
healed,  to  be  made  capable  of  becoming  something 
to  them  yet. 

It  was  in  a  very  humble  frame  of  mind  that  he 
set  out  on  his  journey  next  day.  The  earth  was 
bright  with  sunlight,  the  air  sweet  with  the  new 
growth  of  leaf  and  bud.  Worn  by  thought, 
by  work,  and  the  spectre  of  his  brain,  he  saw 
all  darkly,  felt  only  the  lump  in  his  throat  which 
makes  a  horrible  spiritual  nausea,  and  was  con 
scious  that  he  was  being  whirled  through  a  beau 
tiful  land,  the  forms  of  which  were  strangely 
undefined.  It  was  six  o'clock  when  he  reached 
Freeport,  a  village  resting  between  hills.  The 


340  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

very  air  was  green  from  the  million-leaved  trees, 
green  with  new  sunlight  filtered  through  it ;  even 
in  his  feverish  haste  to  have  his  errand  done 
and  reach  his  journey's  end,  Bernard  stopped  to 
draw  a  long  breath  of  the  sweet  peace  of  the  place. 
Then  he  recalled  himself,  and  went  to  ask  the 
baggage-master,  "  Can  you  tell  me  where  John 
Mason  lives,  —  a  carpenter?" 

"  Down  Summer  Lane,"  began  the  man ;  but 
glancing  across  the  track  he  amended  his  sentence. 
" There's  Mason's  girl;  she'll  show  you  the  way. 
—  Mary!" 

Mary  turned  at  once,  and  waited  for  further 
speech.  Bernard  took  his  bag,  and  crossed  the 
track  towards  her.  She  represented  the  next  point 
in  his  journey  ;  let  her  be  reached  quickly.  The 
girl,  of  fifteen  perhaps,  waited  with  a  certain  selt- 
possession  which  might  have  passed  for  stolidity 
till  you  had  seen  her  face,  square  of  chin,  with 
cheeks  of  splendid  health.  Her  brown  eyes  had 
a  straightforward  gaze,  and  they,  with  the  two 
thick,  hanging  braids  of  hair,  made  up  her  only 
beauty. 

"Do  you  want  to  go  to  father's?"  she  asked, 
quietly,  as  Bernard  reached  her.  His  breath  came 
a  little  faster.  This  was  a  slight  check  ;  "  father  " 
was  a  personality  he  would  rather  not  consider 
at  all: 

"Yes,  if  you  will  show  me  the  way." 


BERNARD   GOES    HOME.  341 

"I  could  tell  father,  if  it  was  an  errand,"  she 
suggested,  as  they  turned  to  walk  on. 

"No,  I  must  see — them,"  said  Bernard,  it 
striking  him  with  a  shock  that  this  fresh  young 
creature  must  be  his  sister. 

"You  see,  so  many  people  want  work  done,  and 
often  they're  glad  to  leave  messages  with  mother 
and  me ;  it  saves  time,  instead  of  hunting  father 
up.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  we  overtook  him,  if 
we're  spry.  He's  on  Simpson's  barn  now.  There 
he  is  !  —  Father  ! " 

The  clear  young  voice  brought  to  a  stand-still 
the  workman  just  in  front  of  them,  as  they  turned 
the  corner  into  the  country  road.  Bernard  could 
only  see,  through  the  blackness  before  his  eyes, 
that  he  was  tall  and  "workmanlike  made,"  as  he 
afterwards  heard  John  Mason  say  of  his  own 
houses,  and  that  he  carried  a  tin  dinner-pail.  He 
saluted  Bernard  with  Mary's  own  straightforward 
glance. 

"  Good-evening,  sir."  Then  he  waited.  Ber 
nard  turned  sick  and  faint.  It  seemed  enough 
that  he  had  come ;  why  need  he  explain  his  way 
at  every  step  ? 

"  My  name  is  Bernard  Ellis,"  he  said,  not  be 
cause  that  offered  any  solution  in  his  own  mind, 
but  because  it  seemed  the  most  natural  thing  to 
say.  But  it  evidently  did  offer  a  solution  to 
Mason.  He  turned  a  keen,  half  embarrassed  look 


342  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

upon  him .  At  last  he  said ,  with  bluntness ,  —  Mary 
eying  them  both  as  they  went  on,  and  wondering 
why  they  were  so  silent,  — "  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  and 
my  woman'll  be.  I'll  say  now  —  it's  been  brewin' 
in  me  ever  since  I  had  a  child  of  my  own  —  I 
didn't  see  into  family  feelin's  as  I  do  now,  or  I 
never  should  have  asked  her  to  give  you  up. 
Maybe  'twas  better  for  you,  but  folks  want  their 
own.  I  don't  believe  your  mother's  ever  give  up 
but  what  you'd  come  back." 

Presently,  as  Bernard  made  no  answer,  Mason 
began  to  watch  him  with  as  much  curiosity  as  lay 
in  Mary's  brown  eyes.  Bernard  wavered  in  his 
walk,  and  was  evidently  half  unconscious  of  what 
the  other  said.  Mason  wondered  if  he  could  have 
been  drinking,  and  was  hoping,  with  the  righteous 
horror  of  slovenly  living  which  seemed  to  go  with 
his  love  of  fine  workmanship,  that  Bernard  had  no 
such  bad  habit,  when  they  turned  into  the  lane 
leading  to  a  very  nicety  of  a  house.  A  comely 
woman,  apple-cheeked,  and  fair  of  hair,  was  blood- 
thirstily  killing  currant-worms  on  the  bushes  lining 
the  fence. 

"  Home  together,  then  ! "  said  a  voice,  as  she  rose 
—  a  voice  with  a  suspicion  of  the  Irish  brogue,  and 
full  of  Irish  richness.  Mason  took  a  quick  step 
in  advance,  while  Bernard  unconsciously  faltered, 
trying  to  make  out  her  face. 

"  Mother,  it's  him  !  "  said  her  husband,  not  with- 


BERNARD   GOES   HOME.  343 

out  some  misgiving  as  to  her  manner  of  taking  the 
news.  She  never  had  had  hysterics  as  yet,  but 
who  can  say  when  that  latent  tendency  may  not 
develop  ? 

Mrs.  Mason  was  staring  hard  into  her  son's  face. 
"  Saints  help  us  1 "  she  cried.  Then,  her  woman's 
wit  reading  there  symptoms  invisible  to  her  hus 
band,  she  added,  "  Give  him  your  shoulder,  John." 
(She  did  say  Jahn,  though  she  had  indeed  little 
brogue.  But  that  little  was  delicious.)  "Give 
him  a  shoulder.  Don't  you  see  he's  ready  to  drop  ? 
—  Poor  little  man  !  poor  sonny  !  "  taking  up  her 
cooing  just  where  she  had  dropped  it. 

So  they  took  him  into  the  house,  Mary  running 
in  advance  to  open  a  bedroom  door,  and  three  more 
awe-struck  children  peering  round  a  corner  of  the 
piazza ;  and  Bernard  went  quietly  off  into  brain- 
fever. 


CHAPTEE  XXVI. 

THE    ORACLE    SILENT. 

~O  IKER  was  still  not  altogether  satisfied  with 
-*-^  his  present  manner  of  life.  The  certaint}^ 
that  he  was  not  making  use  of  all  possible  appli 
ances  for  success  in  his  profession,  continued  to 
grow  upon  him.  More  than  that,  he  recognized 
the  fact  that  one  side  of  his  nature  absolutely  refused 
to  take  an  interest  in  his  present  severe  and  method 
ical  efforts.  From  a  boy  he  had  received  applause 
as  a  reward  for  the  development  and  expression  of 
the  purely  sentimental.  He  had  made  his  bread 
thus,  and  a  solid  loaf  it  had  always  been.  His  beard, 
his  smile,  the  whiteness  of  his  hands,  had  also  won 
him  almost  as  many  disciples  as  had  his  flowery 
eloquence  and  ornate  pathos.  This  traffic  in  sen 
timents  was  attended  by  cash  profits,  a  fact  he 
never  overlooked.  Having,  however,  seen  those 
of  his  own  trade,  more  expert  in  deception,  exhib 
iting  a  certain  admirable  mastery  over  mechanical 
means,  he  had  striven  to  emulate  them,  with  tol 
erable  success  but  with  growing  distaste.  There 
was  too  much  hard  work  involved,  and  work  of  an 
unintermitting  nature.  He  was  obliged  to  be  more 
eternally  vigilant,  having  entered  upon  materiali 
se 


THE    ORACLE    SILENT.  345 

zation,  and  that  scarcely  suited  him.  It  was  more 
in  accordance  with  his  likings  to  give  a  lecture 
here  and  there,  to  be  entertained  in  this  and  that 
town,  than  to  grub  along  from  day  to  day  in  his 
own  office. 

It  is  not  strange  that  adulation  should  have  be 
come  a  great  part  of  his  breath  of  life,  for  he  had 
been  used  to  it  from  childhood.  His  earliest  recol 
lections  were  of  seeing  all  his  small  world  set 
aside  for  himself.  His  widowed  mother  treasured 
him  as  her  one  jewel,  as  a  nature  of  inconceivably 
finer  fibre  than  herself.  She  wondered,  in  simple 
humility,  how  she  could  have  given  birth  to  such 
a  prodigy.  She  could  only  read  her  Bible  labo 
riously  ;  he  was  studying  wonderful  sciences, 
whose  names  she  reverenced  too  deeply  to  pro 
nounce*  Therefore  she  considered  it  bare  justice 
that  he  should  be  shielded  from  the  cold,  from 
anxiety,  and  from  the  hard  labor  that  her  poverty 
necessitated. 

Edward  honestly  agreed  with  her.  He  had 
clearer  faculties,  finer  tastes  than  she ;  it  was  his 
duty  to  cultivate  them.  And  so,  without  much 
hardness  of  heart,  but  only  in  intense  apprecia 
tion  of  himself,  he  allowed  her  to  scrub,  and  wash 
and  iron,  for  meagre  pay,  until  she  sank  quietly 
into  her  grave,  humbly  thankful  to  have  been  of 
use  to  him.  And  chancing  always  to  fall  among 
people  of  no  high  intellectual  level,  he  had  been 


346  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

praised  for  his  cleverness  and  admired  for  his  con 
descension  ever  since.  The  transition  from  tacit 
deception,  the  mere  cajoling  of  the  weak  points 
of  his  audiences  to  actual  deception  of  their  eyes 
and  ears,  was  not  a  great  one.  It  gave  him  no 
shock ;  in  fact,  he  scarcely  observed  it  at  all  as  a 
moral  phenomenon.  It  was  quite  in  the  way  of 
business.  Edward  Hiker  must  be  fed  and  clothed, 
and  he  must  also  boast  a  train  of  adoring  disci 
ples.  Deception  and  this  necessary  consummation 
stood  for  cause  and  effect.  The  effect  proved 
absolutely  necessary  ;  therefore  the  cause  must  be 
evoked.  For  all  that,  he  had  at  times  serious 
ideas  of  going  back  to  his  lecturing,  and  cast  about 
in  his  mind  for  other  hands  in  which  to  leave  mate 
rialization,  thus  supporting  two  geese  of  the  golden- 
egg  variety.  About  this- tune,  the  company  who 
were  accustomed  to  assemble  in  his  parlors  were 
astounded  by  the  report  that  Mrs.  Biker  had 
suddenly  shown  astonishing  mediumistic  powers. 
She,  it  seemed,  could  evoke  spirits  with  even  more 
facility  than  that  possessed  by  her  husband.  A  trial 
of  her  skill  was  promised  for  a  certain  Wednes 
day  night,  and  at  the  hour  appointed  the  rooms 
were  filled.  Biker  and  Leonard  were  engaged  in 
setting  up  the  cabinet,  while  the  last  guests  arrived, 
the  former  full  of  gushing  volubility. 

"  So  many  years  as  I  have  waited  for  this  ! "  he 
exclaimed  to  those  who  stood  near  him.      "  It  has 


THE    ORACT-K    SILENT.  347 

always  been  the  desire  of  my  heart  that  Julia 
should  become  a  medium.  I  have  had  intimations 
of  it,  though,  so  that  my  faith  doesn't  deserve  too 
much  credit.  I  have  been  sustained  from  time  to 
time." 

Leonard,  too,  was  radiant,  but  with  an  honest 
joy.  He  was  fond  of  the  timid  little  woman  who 
had  become  so  favored.  He  felt,  with  a  slight 
self-reproach  at  judgment  of  his  master,  that 
Biker  might  like  her  better  now.  Mrs.  Biker 
entered  several  minutes  only  before  the  hour  ap 
pointed  for  the  ceremony.  She  was  deadly  pale, 
and  evidently  beside  herself  with  some  emotion 
which  might  be  terror,  but  which  Riker  explained 
as  the  effect  of  having  fallen  at  once  "  under  con 
trol."  She  did  not  notice  the  men  and  women 
about  her,  but  whispered-  to  her  husband,  "  Let  me 
begin  now." 

Riker  nodded  knowingly  at  the  circle  with  a 
triumphant,  ''  You  see  !  "  led  her  at  once  into  the 
cabinet,  and  drew  the  curtains.  Falling  himself 
"  under  control,"  he  designated  the  seat  each  par 
ticular  member  of  the  circle  should  occupy.  Com 
ing  suddenly  out  from  his  trance-like  state,  he 
stationed  Leonard  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room 
in  charge  of  the  light,  and  then,  having  lowered 
the  gas,  fell  again  into  an  abnormal  condition. 
Several  spirits  asked  permission  to  come  through 
him  while  the  "squaw-mejum,"  as  Mixy-Maxy 


348  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

called  her,  should  attain  the  requisite  state  of  mind 
and  body.  Mixy,  in  the  name  of  the  squaw-me- 
jtim,  apologized  for  the  possible  imperfection  of 
the  manifestations,  and  begged  the  audience  to 
remain  sitting,  in  no  case  attempting  to  touch  the 
spirits.  That  might  be  permitted  at  some  future 
time,  when  the  medium  should  be  more  fully  de 
veloped.  Now,  owing  to  her  inexperience,  she 
would  need  to  work  under  favorable  conditions. 
As  there  came  a  pause  in  Riker's  harangue,  a  slight 
stir  was  heard  from  within  the  cabinet.  He  in 
stantly  ceased  speaking,  and  the  eyes  of  the  spec 
tators  riveted  themselves  upon  the  mysterious 
closet.  The  curtain  was  emphatically  thrown 
aside,  and  a  white  figure  appeared  in  the  door 
way.  It  stood  motionless  for  several  seconds,  and 
then,  throwing  up  the  hands  with  a  nervous 
motion,  disappeared.  A  murmur  of  interest  rose, 
but  Riker  cut  it  short. 

"Sing!"  he  called,  hurriedly,  "all  sing!" 
Thereupon  a  hushed  chorus  arose.  As  the  voices 
died  away  at  the  end  of  a  stanza,  the  curtain  was 
again  removed,  and  a  second  form  appeared,  dis 
tinctly  an  Indian,  in  blanket  and  feathers. 

"  Mixy  herself,"  said  Riker.  "  Come,  Mixy,  can't 
you  speak  ?  Are  you  glad  to  see  us  to-night  ?  " 

"  No,"  came  a  hoarse  whisper. 

"What!  what!  In  a  naughty  frame  of  mind, 
I'm  afraid,  Mixy.  Not  glad  to  see  your  good 


THE    ORACLE    SILENT.  349 

friends  ?    Well,  tell  us  something,  any  way.     Are 
you  happy?" 

"  Happy  !  O  my  God  !  "  came  in  the  same  sup 
pressed  tone,  and  the  figure  flitted  back  into  the 
cabinet. 

"  I  think,"  began  Biker,  in  easy  explanation,  "I 
am  pretty  sure  that  wasn't  Mixy,  but  her  sister. 
And  I'm  sorry  to  say  that  I  happen  to  know  her 
sister  is  a  bad  spirit.  I  hope  we  sha'n't  have  any 
more  bad  spirits  here  to-night.  If  we  do,  we  shall 
have  to  punish  them  in  some  way."  With  the 
last  sentence,  he  raised  his  voice  warningly.  After 
this  the  manifestations  came  fast  and  furious. 
Hands  were  waved  from  the  cabinet  windows ; 
spectral  faces  were  visible  there,  and  there  was 
heard  the  continual  rustling  of  garments.  Fre 
quenters  of  this  and  similar  places  confessed  that 
never  before  had  anything  so  satisfactory  taken 
place.  Before  the  usual  time  had  quite  expired, 
Eiker  interrupted  proceedings  to  say  that  he  per 
ceived  the  medium  to  be  losing  strength,  and  must 
defer  further  appearances  to  another  evening. 
There  was  a  murmur  of  disapproval,  but  he  was 
firm,  and  ordering  the  lights  to  be  turned  up,  went 
inside  the  cabinet  to  assist  the  medium  in  regain 
ing  her  composure.  After  a  few  moments,  during 
which  the  company  remained  seated,  he  emerged 
with  her,  no  longer  pale,  but  flushed  and  shaking, 
and  led  her  quickly  up  stairs. 


350  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

And  while  Leonard  was  delightedly  receiving  the 
wondering  comments  of  the  dispersing  crowd, 
Riker  remained  with  his  wife,  stifling  her  shrieks 
with  a  towel,  and  endeavoring  to  shake  her  out  of 
hysterics. 

Next  morning  Leonard  came  to  Biker  in  great 
agitation,  holding  an  open  letter. 

"  He's  coming  here  !  "  he  began. 

"Who?" 

"Uncle  Ben.  I  must  go  away.  I  can't  see 
him." 

"  Can't  see  him  ?  "  repeated  Riker,  turning  upon 
him.  "Why?" 

"He  will  ask  me  about  her  —  Aunt  Maria  —  if 
I've  seen  her.  And  I  haven't,  and  I  can't.  How 
can  I  tell  him  so  again  ?  " 

"  I  think,"  said  Riker,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  him 
with  the  old  concentration  of  look,  "  I  think  you 
can  see  her,  if  you  try.  Have  you  tried  ?  " 

"Till  I  couldn't  breathe,"  returned  Len,  in  a 
whisper.  "  And  I'm  afraid  to  do  it,  too ;  she'd 
kill  me !  But  he  wants  it  so,  and  I  must  do 
it!" 

"  Yes,  you  are  right ;  you  must  do  it.  Can't 
you  see  now  just  how  she  looked  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes;  but  —  " 

"  Brown  calico  dress,  plaid  necktie,  hair  braided 
and  crimped,  garnet  ring  on  left  hand,"  said  Riker, 
sending  his  mind  back  some  years.  It  was  an 


THE   ORACLE    SILENT.  351 

unerring  messenger ;  accuracy  in  details  made  part 
of  his  business. 

"Of  course  I  see  that !  " 

"Then  you  can  hear  her  voice,  too?  You  can 
think  what  she  would  be  likely  to  say  to  her 
father?" 

"  But  I  can't  really  see  her !  I  can't  really  hear 
her ! "  cried  the  boy,  in  desperation. 

Biker  made  one  more  effort.  "Think  what 
you  owe  him,"  he  said,  solemnly.  "  Think  how 
he  depends  on  you.  There's  nothing  in  the 
world  he  wouldn't  do  for  you,  and  yet  you  refuse 
him  this  little  favor !  Len,  I  didn't  think  it  of 
you ! " 

He  went  out  and  closed  the  door.  That  act 
stood  for  precaution  as  well  as  policy.  He  felt  it 
necessary  to  utter  in  solitude  the  imprecations 
brought  to  his  lips  by  the  boy's  folly. 

Uncle  Ben's  note  did  not  long  precede  him. 
Len,  distressed  and  tearful  in  his  own  room,  heard 
his  step  and  stick  coming  up  the  stairs.  The 
sound  sickened  him  ;  his  only  thought  was  one  of 
escape.  Uncle  Ben  did  not  stay  to  knock. 

"Any  news,  boy?"  he  began,  as  soon  as  his 
foot  was  fairly  over  the  threshold.  "No?  well, 
we  must  be  patient.  You  ain't  had  a  hint  nor  a 
sign?" 

"No,  sir,"  answered  Len,  chokingly. 

"  Oh,  well,  don't  feel  bad.     She's  busy,  I  s'pose, 


352  FOOLS    OF   NATUEE. 

but  I  can't  think,  bein'  one  o'  the  active  ones, 
what  keeps  her  away  so  long.  Perhaps,  bein' 
active,  they  want  her  there  to  go  on  missions." 

"Perhaps,"  answered  Leonard,  scarcely  know 
ing  what  he  said. 

"  Now  I've  come  up  here  with  a  plan  for  you 
an'  me  to  carry  out.  It's  for  us  two  to  have  a 
sittin'  together  every  day  for  a  week,  an'  see  if 
we  can't  make  out  suthin'." 

"  Oh,  I  can't,  I  can't !  " 

"I  know  'twouldn't  be  right  to  give  up  your 
other  business,  as  long  as  you're  sorter  in  partner 
ship.  That's  what  you  think.  But  I've  thought 
that  all  over,  an'  this  is  how  we'll  do  it.  I'll  pay 
you  as  much  as  you  commonly  make  in  that  time, 
an'  it'll  be  all  right.  Now  don't  you  say  '  No,' 
Lenny.  It's  no  more'n  right  to  do  that." 

Leonard,  indeed,  said  nothing,  after  his  first 
gasp  of  involuntary  protest.  He  seemed  to  be 
caught  in  too  complicated  a  snare  to  admit  even 
of  struggling.  Just  at  the  moment,  Piker,  who 
had  the  faculty  of  appearing  at  critical  times, 
opened  the  door,  to  hurry  forward  and  greet  Uncle 
Ben  with  ostentatious  cordiality.  "You,  my  dear 
sir  ?  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you  !  And  what  mes 
sage  has  our  Len  for  you  ?  " 

"Nothin'  yet,  but  there's  no  hurry,"  said  Uncle 
Ben,  laying  his  hand  on  Len's  shoulder,  with  vague 
appreciation  of  his  distress.  "  I  ain't  so  old  yet 


THE    ORACLE    SILENT.  353 

but  what  I  can  wait,  an'  Lenny  mustn't  take  it 
hard  on  my  account." 

"  If  you  will  allow  me  to  offer,"  said  Riker,  "  I 
venture  to  say  I  could  get  a  message  from  your 
daughter." 

Uncle  Ben  hesitated.  Then  the  smile  which 
must  have  disarmed  resentment,  even  in  a  man 
less  conciliatory  than  Riker,  rippled  over  his  face. 

"  You  mustn't  be  put  out,"  he  said,  gently,  "  but 
I  don't  believe  I  should  be  willin'.  You  know 
Maria  didn't  take  to  you.  Nothin'  against  you, 
it  ain't,  for  we  can't  control  our  feelin's ;  but  I 
should  feel  as  if  I  hadn't  done  the  fair  thing  by 
her  if  I  asked  her  to  do  it." 

Riker's  face  had  darkened  momentarily ;  but  be 
fore  the  old  man  had  concluded,  he  was  ready  for 
a  cordial  grasp  of  his  hand. 

"You're  right,"  he  said,  in  his  frankest  voice. 
"  I  honor  you  for  it.  But  Len  is  at  your  service, 
and  I  heartily  hope  he  may  be  successful." 

Leonard,  still  without  protest,  heard  himself 
condemned  to  his  week  of  torture.  He  had  laid 
down  his  own  will  in  subjection  to  Riker's.  Obe 
dience  had  become  second  nature,  and  he  no  more 
thought  of  resisting  his  master  than  the  demands 
of  his  own  appetite.  He  realized,  with  that  heart- 
sinking  which  accompanies  a  dismal  foregone  con 
clusion,  that  the  morrow  would  see  him  sitting 
near  his  old  friend,  unable  to  offer  him  the  cup  of 


354  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

water  for  which  his  lips  thirsted.  The  next  day 
and  the  next  would  bring  the  same  ordeal.  How 
could  he  endure  the  seven? 

Foreboding  did  indeed  speak  true.  Day  after 
day  he  watched  the  old  man  growing  more  nervous 
and  impatient ;  day  after  day  he  sat  beside  him, 
giving,  with  parched  tongue  and  aching  throat, 
that  cruel  negative.  Strange  that  the  possibility 
of  lying  did  not  present  itself,  but  it  never  did. 
Had  the  suggestive  devil  of  an  active  imagination 
been  more  vigorous  within  him,  it  might  have 
forced  some  new  vision  upon  his  senses.  As  it 
was,  he  waited  for  the  voices  of  the  dead,  and  they 
were  dumb. 


CHAPTER  XXVn. 

NEMESIS   LOOKS   ABOUT   HER. 

TT  is  a  question  whether  there  are  more  than  one 
-*•  two  souls  in  thousands  with  whom  a  just  re 
nunciation  becomes  final  with  the  resolve.  A 
minority  of  these  there  assuredly  is,  and  they  must 
imply  the  existence  of  a  kindred  type,  but  their 
fellows  are  rare.  Most  of  us,  no  matter  how 
firmly  the  obstinate  will  clings  to  its  purpose,  are 
obliged  to  hear  again  and  again  the  waging  of  a 
war  of  argument. 

It  is  true  that  Sarah  had  ceased  to  debate  first 
principles.  The  traitorous  faction  of  her  mind 
had  exhausted  reasons  in  its  first  specious  pleading. 
Time  had  passed ;  the  fall  had  come  again,  and 
with  every  flying  second  she  realized  more  and 
more  that  the  step  she  had  taken  was  final.  As 
that  came  to  pass,  nature  rose  up  in  revolt,  crying 
out,  not  against  right,  not  against  her  judgment, 
but  in  some  inarticulate  protest,  which  was  enough 
to  rend  her  day  by  day.  She  was  passing  out  of 
that  state  of  extreme  youth,  wherein  we  believe 
something  must  happen  because  we  wish  it,  because 
its  refusal  to  happen  would  be  BO  unbearable. 
Time  himself  declared  that  no  deliverance  was 

*55 


356  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

possible.  She  must  not  yield,  and  circumstances 
could  not.  • 

In  such  extremity,  it  was  a.  merciful  provision 
that  Uncle  Ben  should  need  a  housekeeper  and 
friend.  Her  nature,  demanding  so  much  of  life 
which  life  was  refusing,  found  its  only  relief  in 
passionate  devotion  to  him.  She  performed  her 
homely  duties  with  a  religious  fervor.  Her  mo 
ther  had  been  used  to  say  that  she  would  make  a 
fine  little  housekeeper.  Now  she  thought  eagerly 
of  the  saying,  and  consulted  Aunt  Lomie  as  to  old- 
fashioned  modes  of  cookery,  and  Miss  Maria's 
habits.  Uncle  Ben  saw  much  and  guessed  at  much, 
but  took  her  efforts  as  evidence  of  the  goodness 
inherent  in  humanity.  That  she  could  give  such 
loving  service  for  his  sake,  he  was  too  humble  to 
suspect ;  still  less  that  she  was  so  deep  in  trouble 
as  to  do  it  half  for  her  own.  Service  simply  stood 
as  expression  of  the  universal  love  and  brother 
hood  pervading  the  race,  like  some  vital  fluid. 

Aunt  Lomie  said,  "  Benjamin  is  a  good  deal 
broke  up  by  Maria's  death."  It  was  true.  He 
began  at  last  to  waver  under  the  weight  of  years. 
A  febrile  unrest  came  upon  him.  It  would  be  a 
mistake  to  say  that  all  his  stock  of  philosophy 
failed  him  at  his  need ;  it  was  only  true  that  he 
suffered  from  impatience.  When  the  message 
should  once  have  come  from  Maria  that  she  had 
met  the  dead  face  to  face,  and  had  been  herself 


NEMESIS  LOOKS  ABOUT  HER.        357 

permitted  to  return,  he  felt  that  his  life  would 
settle  into  a  smoother  channel.  He  looked  at 
himself  sometimes  in  simple  wonder.  He  had  not, 
since  his  young  manhood,  been  used  to  taking  life 
excitedly.  What  had  come  over  him  ? 

"  You  see  it  makes  an  old  fellow  like  me  feel  he 
ain't  got  the  backbone  he  ought  to  have,  if  he 
can't  wait,"  he  said  to  Sarah,  one  morning,  with  a 
somewhat  pitiful  smile.  "  But  you  know  how  you'd 
feel  if  somebody  near  you  was  crossin'  the  water ; 
you'd  want  to  hear  as  soon  as  they'd  landed.  Now 
I  ain't  a  mite  o'  doubt  about  Mar ia'sbein' all  right, 
but  I  want  to  know  when  she's  got  settled,  an' 
what  sphere  they've  put  her  in."  Sarah  felt  her 
self  choking  with  a  great  pity  for  him,  and  a 
sickening  distaste  for  the  whole  subject.  "Yes, 
yes,"  he  said,  cheerfully,  chancing  to  catch  her 
eager  glance.  "I  know  you  feel  for  me,  an'  I 
ought  to  do  better  than  keep  drawin'  on  your  pity. 
But  it  won't  be  so  long.  I've  got  a  sort  of  impres 
sion  that's  goin'  to  send  me  up  to  Boston  to-day, 
if  you'd  as  soon  stay  with  Lomie." 

"To  Boston?" 

"Yes,  it's  beat  into  me  Maria'll  come  back 
through  Lenny.  It's  nat'ral  she  should,  just  as 
you'd  go  to  your  own  brother  to  help  you  carry 
out  anything.  I  may  stay  a  week,  as  I  did  before. 
Lomie  will  be  glad  enough  to  have  you  come  in 
an'  be  with  her." 


358  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

She  was  obliged  to  smile  sorrowfully  at  herself, 
in  recognizing  her  own  feeling  as  to  these  pilgrim 
ages.  It  was  a  worried  mother-love,  the  precise 
type  of  love  that  might  watch  over  the  path  of  a 
son  setting  out  on  periodical  fits  of  dissipation. 

Aunt  Lomie  dearly  liked  her  presence  in  her 
house,  and  in  her  calm  way  gave  token  of  it  by 
sundry  attentions  which  few  people  elicited  from 
her.  There  was  something  in  Aunt  Lomie's  man 
ner  of  entertainment  which  put  cultivated  graces  to 
shame.  She  was  a  simple  gentlewoman,  equipped 
not  only  with  kindliness  of  heart,  but  with  a  man 
ner  in  which  drawing-rooms  could  have  found  no 
fault.  In  her  youth,  her  soberness,  it  seems, 
wrought  her  no  good  among  the  lads.  Lomie,  of 
all  the  family  of  handsome  sisters,  had  the  smooth 
est  skin  and  the  brownest  eyes,  —  "  sweet  eyes," 
the  yellowed  poem  of  a  dead  and  gone  young  min 
ister  called  them.  Therefore  it  was  that  when  a 
stranger  came  to  town  he  always  asked  to  be  intro 
duced  first  to  Lomie,  though,  when  he  had  talked 
to  her  half  an  hour  and  found  her  not  sprightly  but 
very  sedate,  he  was  likely  to  desert  her  for  the 
more  lively  sisters.  But,  as  Aunt  Lomie  herself 
would  say,  "that's  neither  here  nor  there."  It 
only  pertains  to  this  story  to  state  that  she  set 
dulcet  purple  grape  preserve  and  amber  quince 
before  her  guest,  insisted  on  her  taking  afternoon 
naps,  —  a  weakness  she  would  have  scorned  in  her 


NEMESIS  LOOKS  ABOUT  HER.        359 

own  case, — and  quietly  invited  the  boys  to  put 
on  their  slippers  before  they  came  to  the  table. 
The  boys  did  not  object.  They  had  an  excellently 
well-founded  regard  for  Sarah,  and,  as  she  de 
manded  no  concession  to  her  superiority,  they  were 
quite  ready  to  make  any  sort  of  free-will  offering 
of  the  kind. 

Sam,  at  the  present  time,  had  something  on  his 
mind.  The  "  Original  Villardini  Comic  Concert 
Company  "  had  advertised  an  entertainment  to  be 
given  in  the  town-hall,  on  a  certain  evening. 
There  were  to  be  songs  by  Billy  Harrison,  a  banjo 
solo  by  the  renowned  Joe  Bombei,  a  comic  oper 
etta,  in  which  the  most  celebrated  of  modern  act 
resses  would  take  part,  together  with  sundry  other 
choice  titbits.  Sam  was  convinced  that  nothing  of 
equal  worth  had  appeared  in  Coventry  since  the 
settlement  thereof,  and  he  conceived  the  daring 
project  of  inviting  Mrs.  Mann  to  accompany  him 
to  that  select  entertainment.  He  was  only  deterred 
by  some  doubt  of  his  own  appropriateness  to  the 
occasion,  his  hands  and  feet  seeming  particularly 
large  whenever  he  thought  of  her,  and  a  still  more 
potent  reason  lying  in  the  doubt  whether  even 
such  an  entertainment  could  be  considered  worthy 
of  her.  Yet  he  knew  she  must  be  the  better  for  a 
comic  opera.  She  was  pale,  thin,  and  not  even 
"set  up"  by  thoroughwort.  As  an  entering 
wedge,  he  brought  in  one  night,  with  an  air  of 


360  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

bashful  unconcern,  some  handbills  setting  forth  the 
glories  to  be.  She  took  one,  and  read  it  with 
conscientious  interest,  to  lay  it  down  at  the  end, 
feeling  herself  one  white  heat  from  head  to  foot. 
The  world-renowned  actress  who  would  illuminate 
the  operetta  was  Dolly  Dennis.  This  was  her 
husband's  wife. 

"  What  think  of  it  ?  "  called  Sam  from  the  kitch 
en,  where  he  was  noisily  washing  his  hands.  But 
Mrs.  Mann  had  gone  up  to  her  room,  and  Sam, 
ruefully  regarding  the  bill  dropped  by  her  chair, 
decided  that  it  had  been  found  wanting,  and 
disappointedly  charged  himself  also  to  stay  at 
home. 

As  for  Sarah,  she  longed  only  to  hide  herself 
from  pursuing  circumstances.  She  threw  up  her 
hands  to  heaven  in  denial  of  the  justice  of  a  pun 
ishment  which  decreed  that  she  should  be  haunted 
by  the  embodiment  of  her  sin. 

"  I  have  gone  away,"  she  whispered,  as  if  to  some 
present  Nemesis.  "  I  have  tried  to  make  it  right, 
as  far  as  I  could.  I  will  take  any  punishment 
but  this.  I  cannot  bear  this  !  " 

Infused  through  her  horror  at  having  sinned 
against  marriage,  strengthening  it  into  an  ago 
nizing  intensity,  was  the  traditionary  protest  of 
the  nations  which  abide  by  one  wife.  She  had 
inherited  the  fine  ideal  of  love  we  cling  to  in  theory, 
however  our  practice  may  argue  the  right  of  a 


NEMESIS   LOOKS   ABOUT  HEB.  361 

plurality  of  affections.  Her  own  existence  and 
that  of  the  woman  in  question  were  offences  against 
each  other,  and  against  transmitted  law.  There 
arose  in  her  a  physical  repulsion  for  the  bond  that 
thus  united  them. 


CHAPTEK  XXVITL 

UNDER   THE   RED   CROSS. 

TT  is  true  that  there  are  moments  when  the  sky 
-*-  pours  joyous  revelation,  saturating  souls 
ready  to  be  confident. 

Sarah  could  feel  nothing  but  dread  of  her  future, 
and  a  horror  made  intense  by  the  presence  of  the 
third  actor  in  her  tragedy.  This  was  the  witness 
to  confront  her  as  tangible  evidence  of  her  own 
sin.  No  logical  expedient  helped  her.  As  the  one 
subject  preyed  on  her  bodily  strength,  and  she 
could  neither  eat  nor  sleep  like  a  healthy  woman, 
passion  alone  assumed  control  of  her,  —  a  fierce 
disgust  for  what  had  spoiled  Stephen's  life,  rebel 
lion  against  the  chance  that  had  given  its  sanction, 
and  her  old  self-loathing  for  having  yielded  to 
weak  or  base  influences.  When  the  night  came 
on  which  the  Villardini  Concert  Company  were  to 
make  the  hall  vocal,  she  went  early  to  her  room  to 
look  distractedly  in  the  faces  of  the  images  which 
her  imagination  suggested.  The  woman  might  now 
be  standing  before  her  rough  audience,  tawdry, 
smiling,  and  bold.  Some  reflection  struck  her  of 
the  pain  Stephen  would  feel  could  he  know  what 
was  taking  place. 


UNDER   THE    RED   CROSS.  363 

Sam  and  Henry  had  gone  to  the  "  show,"  the 
former  having  been  unable  to  resist  the  combined 
influence  of  his  brother's  unctuous  recapitulation 
of  the  possible  attractions,  and  his  own  conception 
of  them.  Still,  it  was  from  some  unconscious  sug 
gestion  of  chivalry,  that  while  Henry  went  whistling 
from  the  door,  Sam  had  proposed  meeting  him  a 
"  piece  down  the  road,"  and  had  softly  gone  from  the 
shed,  across  lots.  Sam  gave  himself  no  reason 
for  such  proceedings  ;  in  fact,  he  knew  no  more  ne 
cessity  for  chatechising  himself  than  his  neighbor. 

Some  hours  of  the  night  had  passed  for  Sarah, 
in  that  struggling  that  seems  so  futile  because  its 
immediate  result  lies  only  in  weariness.  At  length 
she  opened  her  eyes  from  the  bed  where  she  had 
sunk,  endeavoring  to  make  her  senses  oblivious 
to  life.  Moonlight  and  peace  confronted  her ; 
they  filled  the  room.  She  rose  hastily  and  went 
to  the  window,  her  strained  hands  locked  in  front 
of  her.  The  world  also  was  full  of  light  and  peace, 
and  it  seemed  very  good.  Possibly  the  time  had 
come  when  the  tense  sensibilities  could  bear  no 
more,  and  ecstacy  might  come  after  pain,  as  it  came 
to  the  saints  in  torture.  That  makes  the  fact  no  less 
wonderful ;  if  revelation  may  be  born  of  fine  fibres 
of  the  body,  one  can  imagine  no  more  divine  a 
string  for  such  vibration.  Suddenly  a  quivering 
sob  burst  from  her  lips,  and  hot  tears  came  of  an 
ecstatic  joy. 


364  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

"  I  will  not  be  ashamed  I  "  she  said.  "  I  meant  to 
be  right ;  my  heart  was  holy,  and  our  life  together 
is  sacred.  There  is  no  stain."  She  sank  on  her 
knees  at  the  window,  bending  her  head  and  sob 
bing,  "  No  stain  !  I  am  sure  of  it !  " 

There  are  some  souls  to  whom  confidence  and 
joy  are  most  natural.  Such  have  an  audacity  of 
hope  which  the  fearful  call  impious.  They  have 
so  much  to  do  in  the  present,  such  triumphant 
surety  in  the  possibilities  of  existence,  that  regret 
has  no  place  with  them.  Sarah  stood  by  the 
window  until  her  sobs  had  spent  their  force,  and 
then  began  making  ready  for  bed,  as  quietly  as 
she  might  while  her  nerves  were  still  quivering. 
One  purpose  was  paramount,  —  that  of  forbidding 
failure  to  rest  upon  her  life.  If  she  had  decided 
unworthily,  it  had  been  honestly.  She  would  in 
deed  no  longer  acknowledge  the  unworthiness  as 
criminal,  even  to  herself.  Let  circumstances  mil 
itate  as  they  would,  forcing  from  her  ignorance 
still  more  unripe  fruit  of  deeds,  and  she  would  be 
content.  She  would  behave  honestly  at  the  time, 
whatever  the  time  demanded  of  her.  If  in  the 
clearer  light  of  further  experience  she  should  find 
herself  forced  to  hate  her  past,  that  must  be  ac 
cepted  as  one  of  the  inevitable  penalties  that  ac 
company  human  living.  Remembering  that  men 
and  women  are  the  sons  and  daughters  of  God, 
she  would  hold  her  head  proudly,  not  like  a 


UNDER  THE  RED  CROSS.          365 

craven.  So  she  ,slept  at  last,  grown  to  fuller 
stature. 

In  the  morning,  Henry  met  her  with  face  and 
mouth  full  of  news,  Sam  preserving  a  counte 
nance  of  stolid  neutrality,  as  if  such  items  lay  far 
beneath  his  notice. 

"No  show  last  night,"  said  Henry.  Sarah  felt 
herself  painfully  flushing  over  brow  and  cheeks. 
"No, "he  went  on,  answering  her  glance,  "com 
pany's  all  broke  up  and  gone  to  the  dogs.  Dolly's 
the  head  one,  you  know,  an'  she's  run  away." 

"Eunaway?" 

"They  can't  find  out  that  she's  robbed  the  till. 
Fact  is,  I  don't  believe  the  whole  company's  got 
enough  to  buy  a  baby's  frock.  They  couldn't  pay 
their  score  for  last  night's  tavern-keep.  They 
took  the  mornin'  train,  an'  Prescott  let  'em  go 
scot  free." 

"  He's  a  gump  ! "  came  Sam's  reedy  voice,  fol 
lowed  by  an  embarrassed  laugh  as  he  realized  that 
the  word  might  not  be  sufficiently  elegant.  "  Pres 
cott  might  ha'  kep'  their  trunks.  It's  likely  there's 
a  good  deal  o'  gold  an'  silver  trimmin's  in  'em 
'twould  ha'  paid  to  have." 

Sarah  walked  to  the  window,  and  watched  the 
two  men  as  they  swung  away  from  the  house. 
Perhaps  she  did  not  really  see  them  ;  her  will  was 
intent  on  the  proud  resolve  that  she  would  to-day 
be  her  ordinary  self,  in  spite  of  thought.  Aunt 


366  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

Lomie  was  putting  up  peaches,  and  Sarah  pared 
till  her  hands  were  black,  and  weighed,  and 
screwed  cans  with  all  the  strength  of  her  small 
strong  wrists. 

"  I  don't  know  as  you  can  ever  go  away  now," 
said  Aunt  Lomie.  "I  ain't  missed  the  girls  so 
much  since  they  went,  as  I  shall  after  you're 
gone,  too." 

The  days  were  growing  brighter  and  colder; 
the  air  held  an  invigorating  sparkle  with  its  breath 
of  decay.  Autumn  was  at  its  height.  A  very 
royal  splendor  it  held  this  year;  one  that  has 
been  commemorated  in  eulogies  from  all  New 
England. 

One  day  Sarah  started  alone  for  a  purposeless 
walk.  She  was  enveloped  in  purple  mist,  the 
bloom  of  the  air ;  she  scented  the  fruit  flavor  and 
drank  in  the  leaf-rotting.  A  fine,  intense  exhila 
ration  fired  her  like  a  presentiment.  "I  should 
think,"  she  said,  "that  I  must  be  going  to  the 
opera  to-night,  if  this  were  the  land  of  operas." 

The  little  laugh  on  her  lips  suddenly  died  at 
the  suggested  remembrance.  She  went  on  her 
way,  effectually  sobered.  A  mile  from  home,  and 
the  familiar  rattle  of  Sam's  wagon  was  to  be  heard, 
coming  round  a  corner  from  the  Exton  road.  Dill 
had  a  way  of  throwing  up  her  head  at  every  step, 
and  presently  Sarah  descried  her,  making  cour 
tesies  as  she  came. 


UNDER    THE    RED    CROSS.  367 

"Kide?"  called  Sam.  "I'll  turn,  an' go  round 
through  the  North  road,  if  you  say  so." 

"I  do,"  returned  Sarah,  her  laugh  coming  back. 
"Don't  get  out,  Sam.  I  can  mount  better  if  you 
give  me  a  pull." 

"Beats  all  how  the  trees  look  up  Bear  Hill 
way,"  and  Sam  gave  the  unwilling  Dilly  a  flick. 
"The  Lord  !"  he  ejaculated,  pulling  the  animal  up 
with  a  jerk.  "Dill,  no  wonder  you  didn't  want 
to  turn.  I'm  a  beast,  an'  you're  a  Christian." 
He  rattled  the  astonished  animal  round  once  more, 
describing  a  curve  which  forced  Sarah  to  catch 
simultaneously  at  the  seat  and  her  hat.  "  Tell  you 
how  'tis ;  you  see,  I've  made  a  discovery.  That 
woman  that  run  away  from  the  Concert  Company 
is  sick  an'  out  of  her  head,  down  to  Joe  Mitchell's 
house,  where  nobody  lives.  I  was  walkin'  the 
horse  by  there,  an'  heard  a  groanin',  an'  so  I  got 
out  an'  went  up  to  peek  in  the  window.  There  she 
was,  on  the  old  bedstead  they  left.  She  must  ha' 
been  crazed  when  she  crawled  in  there.  I  knew 
her  in  a  minute,  —  see  her  at  the  depot  the  day 
she  come.  I  was  goin'  home  to  get  ma'am  to  go 
down,  an'  it  don't  seem  nat'ral,  but  when  I  come 
across  you  it  knocked  her  out  o'  my  head." 

Sarah  was  a  woman  of  lightning  impulses. 
"  Sam,"  she  said,  putting  her  hand  on  his  to  hasten 
his  pull  at  the  reins,  "take  me  back  there  now  ! 
Don't  go  for  your  mother  ;  it  isn't  her  place  ;  and 


368  FOOLS  or  NATURE. 

if  you  see  her  first,  she'll  try  to  prevent  my  going. 
Take  me  back  now  !  "  Dill  had  obeyed  the  detain 
ing  rein,  and  Sam  sat  with  eyes  and  mouth  suffi 
ciently  opened  for  definite  facial  expression.  "  I 
know  her ;  nothing  must  happen  to  her.  If  you 
don't  take  me,  I  shall  walk." 

Sam's  chivalry  overbore  his  convictions  as  to  the 
fitness  of  things.  They  were  within  five  minutes' 
drive  of  the  Joe  Mitchell  house,  when  Sarah  broke 
the  silence. 

"  I'm  right,  Sam,  and  you  must  help  me.  Will 
you?" 

"  I'll  do  any  fool's  errand  you're  a  mind  to  send 
me  on,"  said  Sam,  in  cheerful  resignation  to  his 
puzzle.  "  An'  now  I've  said  it,  go  ahead  an'  tell 
me  what  to  do.  We're  both  in  for  it." 

"First,  you  must  go  for  the  doctor,  and  after  he 
tells  what  things  may  be  wanted,  you  must  drive 
home  to  get  them.  And,  Sam,  above  all,  prevent 
any  one  else  from  coming  to  help  me.  I  must  go 
through  this  alone." 

After  all,  it  was  perhaps  a  romantic  impulse 
which  made  her  sure  that  her  young  shoulders 
must  bear  the  load.  Destitute  also  of  practical 
calculation  was  she  at  the  moment,  for  concealment 
from  many  people  seemed  to  be  absolutely  neces 
sary  ;  what  might  not  be  told  in  the  wildness  of 
delirium  which  would  prove  an  additional  disgrace 
to  Stephen?  The  poor  child  quite  forgot,  as  she 


UNDER  THE  RED  CROSS.          369 

had  been  for  weeks  forgetting,  that  a  very  large 
part  of  the  world  was  in  ignorance  of  her  troubles. 

Sam  was  still  in  grievous  doubt  as  to  his  own 
conduct  in  leaving  her  alone  at  the  house,  when 
they  finally  stopped  before  the  dilapidated  pile. 
However,  the  time  for  remonstrance  had  passed, 
and  he  stood  in  wholesome  fear  of  Mrs.  Mann's 
higher  nature.  They  left  Dilly  cropping  the 
brown  grass  near  the  fence,  and  went  silently  up 
to  the  blackened  front  door.  Sarah  was  sick  with 
fear,  and  wondered,  a  little  weakly,  if  she  must 
faint.  That  was  an  unknown  process  to  her  healthy 
young  body,  but  such  weakness  of  nerve  and 
muscle  must  portend  something. 

Sam  broke  a  pane  from  the  kitchen  window,  to 
admit  his  hand  to  the  fastening.  Thus  another 
window  had  been  opened  by  the  strange  guest 
within.  A  minute  after  his  long  legs  had  dis 
appeared  within  the  window,  Sarah  heard  a  bolt 
withdrawn,  and  the  door  swung  open  to  admit  her. 
She  walked  bravely  in  ;  indeed,  there  was  a  good 
deal  of  courage  involved  in  the  one  effort  of  mov 
ing.  Sam  softly  opened  the  door  of  the  bare  bed 
room.  There  lay  the  woman,  staring  straight  in 
front  of  her  with  unseeing  eyes,  and  talking  by 
snatches.  Sarah  stopped  by  her  side  ;  she  had  an 
absolute  terror  of  encountering  the  eyes,  which 
searched  Sam's  face  with  no  speculation  in  them. 
Sam  turned,  and  noted  her  pallor. 


370  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

"  Come,  give  it  up  !  "  he  whispered. 

The  words  recalled  her  to  sharne  at  her  physical 
weakness.  "No,"  she  answered,  taking  off  her 
hat  and  gloves.  "  Go  for  the  doctor.  I  shall  stay 
while  you  are  gone." 

Sana,  very  dissatisfied  with  himself,  did  go,  after 
one  or  two  lingering  looks  which  held  a  prayer 
that  she  might  have  changed  her  mind.  Once  out 
side,  having  also  made  his  decision  perforce,  he 
lashed  Dill  over  the  road  to  Doctor  Bright's  at  a 
pace  previously  unknown  to  her.  Half-way  there, 
Sam  broke  out  with  an  exclamation  the  very  sound 
of  which  led  him  to  a  more  excessive  use  of  the 
whip.  "  Good  Lord  !  maybe  it's  catchin' !  " 

Meantime,  Sarah,  to  quiet  her  own  wildness  of 
heart,  and  to  familiarize  the  dreaded  eyes  with  the 
sight  of  her,  moved  to  a  point  within  their  gaze, 
where  she  began  spreading  a  wrap  over  the 
woman's  form.  The  eyes  met  hers,  full  of  a  fear 
ful  blankness.  It  flashed  into  her  mind  that  Ste 
phen  had  spoken  of  their  wonderful  blue.  Now 
they  were  black.  No  trace  was  left  of  the  beauty 
he  had  loved  and  hated ;  wrinkles,  the  ravages 
made  by  unhealthful  living,  had  crossed  out  all  del 
icacy  of  hue  and  outline,  as  if  a  ruthless  hand 
should  draw  rough  lines  across  some  priceless 
sketch.  Sarah  brought  a  chair  near  the  bedside, 
and  sat  down  where  the  woman  could  regard  her. 
She  had  an  unexplained  feeling  that,  even  in  her 


UNDER  THE  RED  CROSS.          371 

delirium,  the  other  must  feel   loneliness   and  be 
somewhat  comforted  by  a  human  being. 

"It  is  strange,"  broke  the  hollow  voice,  "that 
they  should  go  without  me  !  Why  couldn't  they 
wait?" 

"  They  will  wait,"  said  Sarah,  rising  to  place  a 
cold  hand  on  the  burning  forehead.  The  bridge 
had  been  crossed ;  she  had  spoken  to  her  and 
touched  her. 

While  she  sat  waiting  for  Doctor  Bright,  she 
thought,  with  a  deep  relief,  that  the  words  of  de 
lirium  were  not  as  likely  to  be  barbed  with  poison 
as  she  had  feared.  Old  records  in  the  brain  came 
to  light,  — childish  occurrences,  and  those  of  girl 
hood.  The  girl  prepared  her  dress  for  her  first 
ball,  smoothed  her  hair  with  weak  hands,  and1 
lived  her  triumphs  over  again.  Stephen's  name 
was  not  mentioned.  Was  it  because  he  had,  after 
all,  made  slight  impression  on  her  real  life,  or  be 
cause  the  busy  brain,  in  its  ransacking  of  odd  cor 
ners,  did  not  chance  to  bring  certain  records  to 
light? 

It  was  two  hours  before  Dill  came  back  at  a 
swinging  trot,  and  behind  her  rang  the  precise 
hoof-beats  of  Doctor  Bright's  roan.  Sarah  won 
dered,  in  the  idle  speculation  which  fills  up  excited 
moments,  why  physicians  and  roans  as  invariably  go 
together  as  bread  and  butter.  Doctor  Bright  came 
in  first,  and  began  at  once  feeling  his  patient's 


372  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

pulse.  Sarah  stood  watching  him,  her  mind  hast 
ily  recounting  whatever  she  had  heard  of  him  in 
Coventry.  Personally,  he  was  an  elongated  skel 
eton  ;  so  thin  a  man  that  Coventry  said  to  itself, 
in  mild  speculation,  that  "  whatever  Dr.  Bright's 
victuals  went  to  the  making  of,  it  wasn't  fat ! " 
The  doctor  was  variously  condemned  and  univer 
sally  loved  in  the  county ;  one  party  disapproved 
of  his  prescription  of  mild  doses,  and  another  con 
sidered  him  fatally  slow  in  making  up  his  mind,  as 
well  as  too  reserved  in  speaking  it.  Neither,  how 
ever,  would  have  been  persuaded  to  admit  another 
practitioner  to  his  house,  under  any  circumstance 
but  that  of  Doctor  Bright's  departing  this  life. 

"  Wasson  says  you  are  to  be  with  her,"  he  said 
at  last,  looking  up  from  his  case  of  vials. 

"Yes,  I  can  do  it,"  began  Sarah,  fearing  further 
objection  ;  but  the  doctor  nodded  her  speech  short, 
and  went  on  in  his  gentle  sing-song : 

"I  will  give  you  directions  later."  He  sat 
down  at  a  little  side  table,  and  began  writing, 
Sam  by  this  time  filling  up  the  doorway  and  re 
garding  him  with  extreme  impatience.  Sam  felt 
that,  after  his  own  and  Dill's  exertions,  he  might 
reasonably  expect  a  verdict  of  life  or  death.  The 
doctor  wrote  slowly,  and  with  microscopic  fine 
ness.  At  length  the  paper  was  concluded,  and  he 
carefully  dried  it,  causing  Sam  new  qualms  of  im 
patience. 


UNDER  THE  RED  CROSS.          373 

"Articles  you  will  need  to  bring  from  home. 
It  will  be  impossible  to  move  her.  I  will  stay 
with  the  young  woman  till  you  come." 

Sam  took  a  step,  and  hesitated.  "Ma'am  will 
ask  what  the  matter  is,"  he  faltered.  .  Even  those 
of  full  strength  and  stature  were  not  exempt  from 
awe  of  Doctor  Bright. 

"  Typhoid  fever ;  that's  all  I  know.  Don't  ask 
me  if  she'll  live.  Don't  ask  me  how  she  got  it.  I 
can't  tell  you." 

Sam  and  Dill  having  once  more  set  out,  Doctor 
Bright  turned  to  Sarah  with  a  slip  of  written  direc 
tions.  "  I  have  put  down  what  you  will  need  to 
do,  in  case  you  shouldn't  be  able  to  trust  your 
memory.  Are  you  going  to  stay  with  her  right 
through?" 

"  Yes."  Sarah  was  prepared  to  defend  her  posi 
tion,  to  passionately  assert  that  though  she  might 
be  young  she  would  not  prove  untrustworthy  ;  but 
Doctor  Bright  believed  in  the  desirability  of  allow 
ing  man  and  woman  to  settle  their  own  affairs. 

"Very  well ;  you  will  need  help  soon,  however. 
Don't  be  romantic  about  devotion ;  don't  despise 
sleeping  when  you  can,  and  going  out  for  fresh 
air." 

The  patient  moaned  and  talked  on,  and  Sarah 
sat  by  the  window,  afraid  of  the  doctor,  and  afraid 
of  her  task  when  she  should  once  be  left  alone.  So 
the  hours  passed  until  Sam  returned,  on  a  wagon 


374  FOOLS    OF    NATURE. 

piled  with  bedding  and  articles  rapidly  suggested  by 
Aunt  Lomie's  practical  mind,  which  never  moved 
slowly  in  time  of  need.  Then  Doctor  Bright  began 
to  work,  with  telling  strokes  of  his  own,  and  plac 
idly  neutral  directions  to  the  two  in  awe  of  him. 
He  had  left  word  for  Aunt  Jane  Hincklcy  to  lend 
her  aid,  and  while  they  were  busy  about  the  sick 
woman,  Sam  coaxed  a  flame  into  life  in  the  kitchen 
fireplace. 

Doctor  Bright  looked  at  his  patient  with  some 
quiet  satisfaction,  when  she  was  finally  resting  on 
Aunt  Lomie's  sweet  bedding.  At  least  that  was 
dry  and  pure,  whatever  the  air  of  the  house  might 
be.  "It's  an  even  chance,"  said  the  doctor  to 
himself,  in  tranquil  enjoyment  of  speculation, 
"  whether  it  would  have  been  better  to  give  her  a 
mild  shaking  up,  and  let  her  die  in  a  comfortable 
house,  or  try  to  make  this  air  fit  for  her  breathing. 
However — "dismissing  his  problem  for  future 
solitary  enjoyment,  and  turning  to  Sarah,  — "  keep 
up  a  fire  for  dry  ness,  and  open  the  windows  for 
air.  It  isn't  such  a  bad  house  as  it  might  be,  for 
the  family  have  only  been  out  of  it  a  month.  I'll 
be  over  in  the  morning." 

His  carriage  drove  away,  and  presently  Aunt 
Jane,  finding  nothing  further  to  do,  went  also. 
Then  Sam  and  Sarah  looked  at  each  other,  some 
what  fearful  of  the  responsibility  they  had  jointly 
undertaken. 


UNDER   TITE   RED   CROSS.  375 

"Ma'am  wanted  to  come,  an'  I  wouldn't  let  her. 
She  was  a  good  deal  put  out ;  said  you  wouldn't 
stan'  it." 

"  "We  may  want  very  much  to  have  her  come 
later.  I  was  foolish  to  say  I  must  do  it  all  alone. 
I  meant  that  everything  hard  must  be  mine.  But 
somebody  who  knows  more  may  be  needed.  Don't 
wait,  Sam,  if  you  need  to  be  home." 

Sam  arrested  his  steps  in  sheer  surprise,  and 
finally  said,  with  extreme  nicety  of  emphasis,  "I 
sha'n't  go  out  of  this  house  till  you  do.  Leave  you 
alone  nights  with  a  crazy  woman,  half  a  mile  from 
a  neighbor?  Good  Lord  !  that  would  be  smart ! " 


CHAPTEE  XXIX. 

PROSPECTIVE    REFORMATION. 

OING  home  one  morning  from  a  business  trip 
that  had  occupied  several  days,  Stephen 
found  a  rather  urgent  note  from  Miss  Phebe,  ask 
ing  him  to  call  on  her  the  previous  evening. 
Excuse  having  been  impossible,  he  ran  round  im 
mediately  to  offer  his  regret  in  person.  There 
seemed  to  have  been  some  unusual  occurrence  at  the 
house.  The  maid  who  admitted  him  was  agitated, 
and  Miss  Phebe  herself,  whom  he  found  in  the  parlor 
with  Gale  and  Linora,  wore  a  flush  high  upon  her 
cheek-bones,  and  upon  her  head  a  new  bonnet  of 
subdued  autumn  tints. 

"  Too  bad  you  couldn't  come,"  she  said.  'f  Some 
how  you  seemed  to  be  the  only  one  left  of  the  old 
family,  and  I  wanted  you  to  come  in  while  things 
were  just  as  they  were." 

"  Things  being  now  as  they  were  not,"  put  in 
Gale,  with  a  much  gratified  coolness.  "Let  me 
introduce  my  wife.  We  walked  to  church  this 
morning,  and  came  away  hopelessly  changed." 

Thereupon  Stephen  congratulated  the  happy 
pair,  wondering  all  the  time  why  Linora  was 
stripped  of  her  usual  volubility,  like  a  bird  plucked 

378 


PROSPECTIVE    REFORM ATION.  377 

of  gorgeous  plumage.     She  was  not  silent  long, 
however. 

"Yes, I  go  with  them," she  exclaimed,  nodding. 
f'I  know  that's  what  you  want  to  ask.  We  go 
this  noon  to  form  a  model  household  on  the  Hud 
son,  and  there  we  remain  all  winter,  uncle  study 
ing,  Aunt  Phebe  reforming,  and  I  being  reformed. 
Somehow  I  like  the  passive  voice  better ;  it  im 
plies  more  repose,  —  less  effort." 

Gale's  face  relaxed  in  the  slight  indulgent  smile 
which  her  general  worthlessness  usually  served  to 
call  forth;  but  his  wife  looked  at  her  gravely, 
saying,  "Yes,  Linora,  I  do  mean  to  reform  you  in 
your  ways,  if  that's  possible." 

Linora  nodded  again,  and  laughed  gayly  as  she 
rose  to  leave  the  room.  Before  going,  however, 
she  stopped  before  Mrs.  Phebe  to  deposit  a  little 
kiss  on  her  shoulder.  "  You  don't  know  how  nice 
I  think  it  is  of  you  to  let  me  go  too  !  "  she  said. 
"In  the  midst  of  domesticity,  who  knows  but  I 
also  may  be  domestic  1  I  fancy  I  might  evolve 
moral  truths  in  the  process  of  jelly-squeezing. 
Mr.  Mann,  I  shall  see  you  again.  I  have  a  little 
packing  to  finish,  and  an  errand  to  do,  and  when 
I  hear  your  retreating  steps,  I  shall  run  down  to 
accompany  you  to  the  corner,  in  pursuance  of  the 
latter." 

When  she  was  out  of  the  room,  Gale  regarded 
his  wife  with  a  mixture  of  drollery  and  fondness, 


378  FOOLS    OF   NATUKE. 

saying,  "  Phebe  will  have  it  that  there  is  mission 
ary  work  to  be  done  for  our  young  friend.  I  tell 
her  it  should  have  been  begun  fifteen  years  ago." 

"Don't  I  know  it !  "  returned  that  lady,  with  em 
phasis.  "  Do  you  suppose  I  think  her  poor  little 
twisted  soul  can  ever  be  put  straight  now  ?  But 
she  shall  have  a  home,  and  healthy,  common  things 
to  think  of.  We'll  keep  hens  and  pigs,  —  you 
said  there  were  horses  ?  —  and  she  shall  help  feed 
them.  And  her  poor  little  body  shall  be  nursed 
up,  after  its  cigarettes  and  being  awake  at  all  hours, 
and  starving  herself  at  the  table  to  eat  when  folks 
didn't  know  it.  Oh,  I  know  her  !  And  I  am  fond 
of  her,  too,  in  spite  of  it  all." 

"  If  she  is  to  be  reformed,  it  is  perhaps  well  for 
all  of  you  that  she  is  such  a  good-natured  girl," 
suggested  Stephen. 

"Good-natured  as  the  day  is  long,"  returned 
Mrs.  Phebe,  in  quick  corroboration.  "We  can 
call  it  quits ;  she'll  be  a  lesson  to  me  as  to  temper." 

"  And  so  Number  Forty  is  at  an  end,  as  far  as 
old  associations  go,"  said  Stephen,  looking  about 
him,  and  fixing  again  in  his  mind  the  stiff  details 
of  the  parlor,  with  a  sad  foreboding  that  he  might 
sometime  need  every  remembrance  of  the  past. 

"Sold  out,  and  the  landlady  coming  in  this 
noon.  The  lodgers  are  put  out,  but  that  doesn't 
signify ;  they're  not  my  old  lodgers,  and  I've  no 
sort  of  aft'ection  for  them.  Mr.  Mann,"  as  he 


PROSPECTIVE    REFORMATION.  379 

gave  her  his  hand  in  good-by,  hearing  Linora's 
step,  "I  should  like  to  feel  that  your  wife  was 
well." 

"  I  can  assure  you  of  that.  She  will  be  glad  to 
know  you  are  so  happy."  He  made  his  leave- 
taking  short  after  that,  anxious  to  escape  the 
harrying  of  kind  questions,  and  presently  went 
out  with  Linora. 

"And  now  that  you  have  wished  us  happiness, 
and  promised  to  visit  us,  which  you  won't  do, 
and  thought  it  an  extremely  good  thing  for  me  to 
have  married  my  uncle  off  my  hands  to  somebody 
who  will  take  charge  of  me,  —  well,  after  all  this, 
you're  rid  of  us  !  "  said  she. 

"But,  seriously,"  returned  Stephen,  looking  at 
her  with  challenging  frankness,  ^  isn't  it  a  good 
thing  for  you?" 

"  Seriously,  it  is  ;  and  though  you  wouldn't  think 
it,  I  quite  appreciate  it.  I  am  getting  old  enough 
for  the  pastoral  side  of  life  to  have  some  charms  as 
well  as  appropriateness  for  me.  I  may  even  marry 
a  rector,  if  such  exist  in  our  calm  retreat." 

"Not  a  priest?"  suggested,  Stephen,  with  a 
mischief  he  felt  to  be  not  too  chivalrous. 

"Not  a  priest,  I  think,"  she  said  coolly,  with 
not  even  the  suspicion  of  a  blush.  "  There  would 
be  a  monotony  of  treatment  in  that  subject.  But 
what  I  wanted  really  to  see  you  for,  was  to  ask 
you  to  give  my  love  —  my  real  love  —  to  your 


380  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

wife.  There's  not  much  of  me,  and  I  am  afraid 
she  knows  it ;  but  what  there  is,  is  loyal.  I  should 
like  to  have  a  chance  to  show  her  that  I'd  do 
anything  in  the  world  for  her." 

"I  believe  you  would,"  said  Stephen,  as  she 
stopped  at  her  destination.  "You  have  proved  it 
by  being  so  silent." 

They  hurriedly  shook  hands,  and  he  left  her, 
anxious  again  to  get  away  after  the  last  subject 
broached. 

"  So  one  person  of  the  little  knot  of  us  who  got 
so  tangled  there,  seems  to  see  her  solution,"  he 
said  to  himself,  as  he  went  on.  "  Linora  may  not 
be  very  much  changed,  —  she  may  not  want  to  be, 
—  but  she  is  to  have  Mrs.  Phebe's  righteous  arm  to 
lean  on  henceforth,  and  I  believe  she  likes  it.  But 
that  solution  involves  somebody  else  in  a  new 
coil,  —  Mrs.  Phebe.  Still,  she  will  be  happy,  for 
Gale  sees  all  domestic  and  womanly  graces  in  her, 
and  she  won't  disappoint  him."  And  the  thought 
set  him  again  upon  the  worn  track  of  his  own 
sorrow. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE   SHADOW   OF   DEATH. 

T  EONARD  had  become  involved  in  the  destiny 
-*-^  which  his  own  simplicity  had  marked  out  for 
him,  and  it  was  too  late  to  arrest  his  steps  with 
ease.  Indeed,  he  saw  no  reason  for  pausing ;  he 
was  only  aware  that  his  profession  was  productive 
of  great  discomfort,  and  though  that  was  possibly 
the  penalty  of  genius,  he  nevertheless  chafed  under 
it.  In  that  week  of  daily  companionship  with 
Uncle  Ben,  he  had  become  nervous- to  a  degree 
incompatible,  to  casual  eyes,  with  his  placid  fat 
ness.  This  time,  Uncle  Ben  was  not  to  be  balked 
of  his  purpose ;  he  had  come  to  receive  a  message 
from  Maria,  and  the  message  he  must  have.  Great 
issues  were  at  stake  ;  communication  between  the 
kingdoms  of  heaven  and  earth  was  to  be  indubita 
bly  proved  by  a  word  from  a  soul  he  trusted, 
through  means  as  clear  as  crystal.  He  did  not 
doubt  Riker;  without  positive  proof  he  would 
doubt  no  one;  but  he  had,  as  he  had  stated,  the 
certainty  that  Leonard's  testimony  must  prove  the 
keystone  to  his  life's  structure  of  belief.  Leonard 
could  see  nothing,  and  reiterated  that  inability 
until  he  feared  to  meet  his  old  friend,  and  made 

881 


382  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

engagements  to  escape  from  him.  In  his  new 
state  of  extreme  nervous  irritability,  he  saw  every 
thing  else,  it  seemed,  that  the  imagination  could 
compass  ;  so  that  Riker,  overhearing  his  statements 
to  visitors,  felt  obliged  to  curb  their  wildness  by  a 
gentle  admonition. 

"  That's  what  the  old  lady  said,"  Leonard  would 
invariably  reply,  with  an  obstinacy  which  Riker 
did  not  dare  combat  too  far. 

Why  should  he  not  have  seen  what  he  had  most 
reason  for  seeing,  when  his  mind,  like  a  disordered 
machine,  seemed  capable  of  fly  ing  in  any  direction, 
in  obedience  to  the  greatest  pressure  ?  Possibly 
he  was  too  anxious  ;  possibly  the  magnitude  of  the 
requirement  so  awed  him  that  he  sifted  whatever 
his  imagination  offered,  clown  to  its  ultimatum  of 
chaff.  Possibly,  also,  his  first  terror  of  Maria 
had  developed  into  a  fear  of  misrepresenting  her. 
Riker  had  endless  communications  from  her,  — 
somewhat  slipshod  ones,  which,  gratuitously  of 
fered  him,  Uncle  Ben  swallowed  with  patient 
courtesy.  Riker  felt  so  sure  of  making  his  control 
absolute  over  the  old  man,  that  he  scarcely  took 
the  trouble  to  remain  plausible.  He  interpreted 
Uncle  Ben's  growing  simplicity  of  manner  as  a 
weakness  of  mind,  corresponding  to  his  increasing 
feebleness  of  body,  and  fed  it,  half  contemptuously , 
with  diluted  milk  fit  for  babes,  who  by  dying 
would  best  fulfil  the  decrees  of  a  wise  Providence, 


THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.         383 

In  pursuance  of  this  more  careless  line  of  action, 
he  volubly  apologized,  in  Miss  Maria's  name,  for 
her  previous  lack  of  charity  towards  the  medium. 
Even  Uncle  Ben,  with  a  somewhat  pitiful  smile, 
said  that  Maria  was  changed ;  but  not  to  himself 
did  he  own  that  the  change  was  scarcely  to  his 
liking.  He  was  not  conscious  of  finding  fault  with 
Hiker  and  his  own  scheme,  but  of  an  uneasiness  in 
the  atmosphere. 

"Just  let  it  all  be  awhile,"  said  Leonard  one 
morning,  when  the  two  sat  together  in  one  of  their 
interviews.  "Wait  till  summer,  and  I'll  come 
down  and  spend  a  month,  and  then  we  can  talk 
it  over.  You  don't  seem  well ;  you're  not  fit  to 
worry." 

"No,  I  ain't  well,  Lenny  ;  but  it's  what  I've  got 
to  expect.  I  am  over  eighty ;  my  tune  ain't  long 
here." 

"  Then  have  a  good  time,  and  don't  fret !  We 
know  Aunt  Maria's  well  off,  and  when  the  time 
comes,  perhaps  you'll  hear  from  her." 

"Yes,  yes,  we  know  she's  well  on't.  I  should 
like  to  have  patience,  boy,  if  I  only  could.  It's 
the  decay  beginning,  —  the  decay.  It  makes  my 
faculties  weaker  ;  I  can't  seem  to  stan'  things  as  I 
could.  An'  you  can't  hear  ?  " 

"  I  can't  hear  a  thing.  I  wish  I  was  dead ! " 
cried  Len. 

"No,  no!"  said  Uncle  Ben,  recalling  himself, 


384  FOOLS  or  NATURE. 

and  straightening  in  his  chair  with  the  responsi 
bility  of  supporting  the  younger  mind.  "That 
ain't  right.  Live  till  the  Lord  calls  you,  an'  be 
glad  to  live.  There's  worse  things  than  this  to 
bear,  an'  you've  no  call  to  take  it  hard." 

He  made  no  further  embarrassing  demands,  and 
went  home  that  afternoon.  Leonard  breathed 
more  freely,  after  he  was  fairly  away,  and  then  felt 
with  shame  his  want  of  gratitude. 

Not  a  week  had  passed  before  his  new  peace  of 
mind  was  overthrown  by  a  telegram  from  Coven 
try.  Uncle  Ben  had  had  a  shock.  Would  he 
come  ?  Riker  took  the  news  with  a  strange  sort 
of  excitement,  which  struck  Len  as  the  result  of 
grief,  and  awakened  a  new  flow  of  tenderness 
towards  his  benefactor.  Len  would  have  said,  had 
he  been  in  the  habit  of  expressing  himself  freely 
on  any  subjects  but  those  connected  with  celestial 
spheres,  that  Biker's  heart  was  large  enough  to 
take  in  the  whole  sorrowing  world;  one  little 
circle  of  friends  could  not  fill  it,  and  its  tendrils 
crept  far  and  wide  to  draw  in  the  needy  to  its 
folds. 

Professor  Riker  hastened  his  pupil's  departure, 
and  bade  him  good-by,  with  excited  face  and 
voice.  He  had  debated  within  himself  the  wisdom 
of  going  also,  with  the  final  decision  that  it  was 
better  otherwise.  Len's  presence  would  be  the 
natural  and  expected  event ;  no  one  of  the  simple 


THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.          385 

relatives  would  dream  of  wills  or  property.  But 
if  he,  Riker,  should  make  a  prominent  figure  in 
the  scene,  his  presence  might  suggest  to  Uncle 
Ben  some  disclosure  of  his  intentions.  Then  who 
knew  what  persuasions  and  reconsiderations  might 
not  follow  ?  There  were  situations  in  which  Len's 
vacuous  simplicity  would  work  far  more  good  in 
mere  avoidance  of  disturbing  crystallizing  atoms, 
than  would  the  cleverest  care.  Once  set  a  train 
in  motion,  and  Len  would  not  interfere,  save  from 
some  innocent  blunder.  With  Riker,  the  chances 
were  always  against  blunders. 

When  Len  reached  the  old  farm-house,  he  found 
life  flowing  smoothly  on  there,  under  Aunt  LoimVs 
guidance.  Uncle  Ben  lay  motionless  in  bed,  using 
his  eyes  and  sometimes  his  feeble  lips  ;  but  there 
was  none  of  that  excitement  of  illness  which  Len's 
childish  imagination  had  depicted.  He  was  ready 
to  sob  aloud  when  he  went,  with  blundering  soft 
ness,  to  the  bedside.  The  smiling  lines  on  the 
old  man's  face  had  not  forgotten  their  office.  A 
subtile  change  passed  over  his  features,  like  the 
flowing  of  faint  sunlight. 

"  I  never  shall  go  back  to  leave  you,  pa,"  the 
boy  burst  forth,  as  expression  of  the  utmost  con 
solation  in  his  power.  The  feeble  lips  moved. 

"Put  your  head  down,"  said  Aunt  Lomie,  who 
btood  by  the  bedside,  a  cup  and  spoon  in  her 
hands.  "  He  wants  to  speak." 


386  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

What  Len  could  distinguish  of  the  broken 
sentence  started  a  new  apprehension  within  him. 
It  was  the  old  question ;  had  he  heard  from 
Maria? 

"No,  not  yet,"  said  the  boy.  He  longed,  at  the 
moment ,  to  utter  a  renunciation  of  the  whole  sys 
tem,  —  money,  the  good  he  might  do,  his  great 
fame,  — but  the  force  of  habit  and  fear  of  harming 
the  sick  man  closed  his  lips.  In  the  following 
days,  he  sat  hour  after  hour  by  the  bedside,  always 
in  an  agony  of  anticipation.  Uncle  Ben  was 
uneasy  without  him,  and,  when  he  was  near,  lay 
with  questioning  blue  eyes  fixed  on  his  face.  Len 
shuddered  under  that  kindly,  wistful  gaze.  He 
alone  knew  what  it  meant,  and  that  every  silent 
moment  was  a  denial  to  his  old  friend's  last  re 
quest. 

The  news  of  illness  at  the  farm-house  could  not 
greatly  startle  Sarah,  still  face  to  face  with  noisome 
fever.  It  seemed  the  natural  event  that  there 
should  be  trouble  and  death ;  she  could  not  see 
beyond  them.  Mrs.  Hinckley  had  taken  up  her 
residence  with  her,  sharing  the  nursing,  and  bear 
ing  the  burden  of  house  duties ;  and  Sam  was  a 
tower  of  strength. 

Doctor  Bright  did  not  commit  himself  as  to  the 
probable  issue  of  the  illness.  .  One  might  have 
supposed  that  Aunt  Jane,  after  manifold  experi 
ences  of  the  cut  direct,  would  have  avoided  asking 


THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH.         387 

his  opinion ;  but  she  could  not  resist   her  inner 
longings  for  news. 

"Think  she's  goin'  to  get  .over  it?"  she  re 
marked,  confidentially,  as  he  was  closing  his  med 
icine  case,  with  the  vigorous  snap  which  was  the 
only  sudden  expression  he  allowed  himself.  The 
doctor  made  no  answer  for  some  minutes,  and  one 
might  have  thought  he  had  not  heard. 

"  If  she  is  strong  enough  to  recover,  I  have  no 
doubt  she  will,"  he  returned  with  unblemished  neu 
trality. 

Sarah,  in  her  place  by  the  bed,  felt  a  sudden 
throb  and  stand-still  of  her  heart.  In  the  strain 
of  intense  living,  the  question,  as  a  blank  form  of 
Avords,  had  not  occurred  to  her.  She  was  con 
scious  now  of  that  deep  fear  which  seems  to  at 
tend  great  issues  with  which  our  wishes  are  liable 
to  meddle.  At  such  times,  the  higher  powers 
seem  immeasurably  awful,  and  we  dare  not  over 
rule  their  decisions,  even  by  a  breath  of  prayer. 

She  had  thought  before  that  some  one  should  be 
notified  of  the  woman's  illness.  It  must  not  be 
Stephen.  She  had  set  her  mind  against  drawing 
him  into  connection  with  it,  even  such  as  lay  in 
answering  a  question.  She  wrote  to  Skeriton, 
under  cover  to  the  post-master,  and  an  answer 
came.  It  contained  money,  and  was  signed  by 
the  woman's  brother.  He  could  not  come,  but 
must  be  kept  advised  of  her  state.  In  case  of  a 


388  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

fatal  issue,  she  must  be  sent  home.  So  Sarah  had 
despatched  daily  word,  wondering  if  all  affection 
were  dead  there  also. 

What  could  all  this  rouse  in  her  own  heart  but 
an  intense  pity?  Thrown  on  her  hands,  depend 
ent  on  her  for  the  maintenance  of  the  feeble  flicker 
of  life  still  in  the  poor  body,  she  could  not  cherish 
harshness  towards  the  helpless  creature.  And 
when,  in  the  dead  stillness  of  the  night »  she  sat  by 
the  wreck  of  womanhood,  the  true,  divine  charity 
awoke  in  her.  That  may  be  the  far-reaching, 
patient  love  of  God,  —  His  daily  thought  of  His 
creatures,  only  to  be  attained  by  them  at  brief 
moments. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE   USUAL   RESULT. 

TT  would  be  gratifying  if  there  were  something 
-*-  besides  deadness  of  mind  to  chronicle  of  Ste 
phen  ;  one  would  hope  there  might  have  taken 
place  some  clarifying  of  the  mist  about  him,  some 
tiny,  special  revelation  which  should  enable  him 
to  bear  his  lonely  days  with  more  high-minded  for 
titude.  There  was  nothing  of  the  sort ;  he  was 
simply  able  to  cling  to  resolution,  and  to  do  no 
more.  One  can  but  feel  great  kindliness  for  that 
sort  of  nature  which  loves  so  warmly  as  to  follow 
love's  dictates  with  more  eagerness  than  those  of 
reason.  Such  souls  lie  in  daily  danger  of  loss, 
through  devotion  to  what  is  not  high,  if  it  has 
once  been  invested  with  ideality.  Stephen  felt 
secure  of  the  worth  of  his  passion.  His  power 
of  loving  was  the  strong  force  of  his  nature ;  this 
time  he  trusted  it  to  bear  him  on  to  noble  ends. 

To  him,  sitting  one  morning  in  his  office,  came 
an  unexpected  visitor,  —  Bernard. 

"  And  may  I  ask  where  you  dropped  from  ?  " 
said  Stephen,  getting  out  of  his  chair,  and  letting 
surprise  do  the  work  of  cordiality. 

"  Almost  from  the  other  side  of  Styx,"  answered 

in 


390  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

Bernard,  with  a  laugh.  "I  have  been  ill  all  sum 
mer.  I  nearly  died  of  fever." 

"I'm  sorry,  decidedly  sorry,  you've  had  an  un 
comfortable  time.  And  you  show  it,  though  the 
change  is  becoming  to  you." 

The  change  was  great,  to  be  found  not  only  in 
thinness  of  flesh  and  the  effects  of  a  general  bleach 
ing  process,  but  in  Bernard's  new  expression.  He 
was  —  though  that  is  stating  a  fact  but  vaguely  — 
more  human  of  glance  and  response.  He  met  Ste 
phen's  look  frankly ;  the  expression,  at  least,  of 
the  old  moodiness  and  distrust  was  quite  gone. 

"  And  how  about  your  trip  West  ?  Are  you  in 
clined  to  carry  out  the  proposition  one  of  us  made, 
as  to  stock-raising  ?  " 

''  That  was  partly  what  I  came  for.  Now  that 
I  am  well,  I  want  something  to  do,  and  the  idea 
of  that  suits  me  exactly.  We  have  talked  it  over 
at  home,  and  they  have  half  promised  me  that  if 
I  make  a  home  out  West,  sometime  Mary  shall  go 
and  live  with  me." 

"Mary?" 

"  She  is  my  sister,  —  my  half-sister,  that  is,  — 
and  like  a  woman.  I  think  she  has  done  me  as 
much  good  as  my  mother.  They  all  took  me  in, 
Mann,  and  made  me  one  of  them." 

Stephen's  mind  flew  rapidly  back  to  the  figure 
Bernard  had  made  in  his  own  mental  horizon,  just 
before  that  visit  to  Freeport,  and  he  could  but 


THE    USUAL    RESULT.  391 

credit  the  Masons  with  an  excess  of  charity. 
However,  he  could  and  did  say,  in  all  cordiality, 
"I  am  heartily  glad  of  it." 

"I  found  my  mother  so  good,  and  sweet-natured, 
and  unselfish,"  continued  Bernard,  as  if  the  flux 
of  adjectives  was  too  pressing,  and  he  could  only 
select  what  were,  after  all,  inadequate.  "And 
Mary  is  a  woman  and  a  child  in  one.  I  think  I 
should  be  happy  anywhere  if  I  could  have  her 
with  me.  But  I  want  work." 

"  Very  well ;  as  soon  as  I  can  settle  up  and  get 
you  started ;  I  suppose  there's  no  pressing  neces 
sity.  You  can  wait  a  month  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  could  wait  two,  though  I  am  impatient. 
The  fact  is  —  "  laughing  somewhat  uneasily,  and 
carrying  embarrassment  in  his  tone,  "  I  haven't 
laid  aside  my  idea  of  giving  up  the  property  that 
came  to  me  by  inheritance.  I  don't  feel  about  it 
as  I  did,  and  precisely  because  my  feeling  has 
changed,  I  think  I  ought  to  carry  out  what  I  had 
resolved  on." 

"As  a  sort  of  exquisite  penance?  Can  you 
afford  to  amuse  yourself  in  that  expensive  way  ?  " 

"  I  must,  to  keep  my  self-respect,"  said  Bernard, 
with  none  of  his  old  irritability.  "You  see,  I 
thought  I  shamed  Mrs.  Ellis'  choice  through  bad 
ness  of  blood.  Now  I  know  I  don't ;  I  am  sure  I 
have  as  much  claim  to  generosity  and  delicacy 
through  inheritance  as  any  man.  So  I  feel  as 


392  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

though  I  had  a  foot-hold  once  more,  a  birthright, 
and  I  can't  curse  myself  or  anybody  else.  But 
just  because  I  have  changed,  1  don't  want  to  make 
capital  out  of  repentance,  and  say  I  will  not  keep 
a  promise  which  is  not  for  my  advantage." 

"  I  see  ;  having  once  been  a  fool ,  you  are  deter 
mined  to  pay  the  full  penalty,  though,  being  now 
sane,  you  see  no  valid  reason  for  doing  so.  That 
is  an  extreme  of  honesty  for  which  the  powers 
above  won't  give  you  credit.  They  are  more 
likely  to  make  a  man  pay  twice  over." 

Bernard  could  give  gentle  judgment  to  the 
bitterness  in  his  tone.  He  himself  had  suffered 
far  too  much  to  be  obtuse  to  a  man's  wretched 
moods. 

"Nevertheless,  I  think  I  am  right,"  he  said, 
brightly,  "and  if  paying  back  the  money  helps 
me  keep  my  self-respect,  what  does  it  matter 
whether  I  am  foolish  or  not?" 

But  Stephen  did  not  discuss  the  subject,  turning 
to  one  where  he  was  sure  Bernard  must  agree 
with  him,  and  probably  find  some  amusement 
there,  as  one  may  in  past  foibles  which  have  not 
been  too  deep  or  ridiculous.  "And  now,  after 
the  indisputable  proof  of  brain-fever,  I  suppose 
you  will  agree  with  me  that  the  spectres  you  used 
to  see  were  also  the  coinage  of  your  fancy?" 

"  Not  at  all !  I  might,  if  my  belief  in  spirit 
ualism  rested  on  them  alone  ;  but  what  will  you  do 


THE    USUAL    RESULT.  393 

with  the  materialized  forms  I  have  seen  walking 
out  of  Biker's  cabinet  ?  " 

Stephen  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  regarding 
Bernard  with  more  interest  than  he  had  ever  be 
fore  felt  in  him.  Once  his  vagaries  had<  appeared 
to  go  well  with  his  general  un  soundness  of  mind  ; 
now,  when  he  seemed  to  look  at  the  world  like 
other  men,  such  aberrations  were  in  the  last 
degree  astonishing.  He  seemed  a  subject  deserv 
ing  of  the  active  charity  of  endeavor. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  see  disembodied 
spirits  in  that  vulgar  trickery  ?  " 

"  I  do ;  I  can  but  trust  the  evidence  of  my 
senses."  . 

"That  phrase  is  the  expression  of  a  very  old 
fallacy.  Science  has  determined  that  there  is 
nothing  more  unworthy  of  trust." 

"  But  when  I  plainly  am  haunted  by  shapes," 
urged  Bernard,  "as  I  know  I  was  !  " 

"Find  me  a  physician  who  will  tell  you  that 
there  are  not  constitutional  causes  for  false  see 
ing,"  interrupted  Stephen,  with  more  heat  than  he 
often  showed,  "and  I  should  not  be  willing  to 
trust  my  constitution  to  his  mercies.  I  suppose 
total  ignorance  of  the  freaks  the  nerves  and  organs 
may  play  isn't  culpable  in  a  wholly  unlettered  man  ; 
in  you  and  me,  who  have  access  to  scientific 
books,  it  is  culpable.  How  far  did  you  ever  try 


394  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

to  test  your  vision  by  scientific  methods,  or  paral 
lel  them  in  history  ?  " 

Bernard  hesitated.  "Well,  I  believed  in  them 
at  once,"  he  confessed. 

"Yes,  your  imagination  was  on  their  side!  I 
can't  conceive  of  being  so  gulled  1  It  is  an  ana 
chronism  ;  one  might  expect  it  in  the  Middle  Ages, 
or  under  the  guidance  of  such  a  prince  of  magic  as 
Cagliostro ! " 

Bernard  had  not  come  prepared  for  argument, 
and,  taken  by  surprise,  did  not  retort  to  any  pur 
pose.  But  he  did  fall  slightly  out  of  temper ;  it  is 
not  in  nature  to  hoar  one's  self  reproved  as  unsci 
entific  or  simple-minded,  and  still  preserve  pa 
tience. 

"When  you  prove  positive  falsity  in  what  I 
have  seen,  I  will  believe  you  -in  the  same  whole 
sale  manner,"  he  contented  himself  with  saying. 
"I  suppose  you  wouldn't  object  to  that." 

"  If  you  pin  your  faith  to  what  any  medium  may 
have  told  you  of  your  past  or  future,  you  can  ex 
plain  every  hit  of  that  kind  by  a  practised  clever 
ness  in  making  use  of  the  victim's  disclosures,  or 
by  lucky  guesses,  or  even  by  some  mysterious 
mental  power,  if  you  will.  I  am  willing  to  con 
cede  any  sort  of  unclassified  force  to  the  human 
mind.  But  if  you  rely  on  shadowy  figures  from 
dark  cabinets,  go  yourself  and  seize  one.  No 
honest  spirit  would  grudge  himself  as  subject  of 


THE    USUAL   RESULT.  395 

experiment,  as  no  generous  man  would  deprive 
the  dissecting  table  of  his  tissues." 

"Go  with  me,  if  you  think  you  can  arrest  a 
materialized  form,"  returned  Bernard,  with  the 
feeling  that  he  must  not  resist  this  trial  between 
his  own  gods  and  Baal.  "  Professor  Hiker's  mate 
rializing  can  stand  the  test." 

Stephen  considered  a  moment.  He  had  been 
through  the  experience  in  his  college  days,  when 
it  assumed  the  proportions  of  gay  adventure.  It 
held  no  sort  of  interest  at  present ;  nevertheless 
the  deed  seemed  worth  doing. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said.    "  To-night  ?  " 

"Yes,  unless  his  times  have  changed.  I'll  find 
out  about  that." 

Stephen  could  scarcely  have  told  why  he  so 
earnestly  resisted  the  fact  of  Bernard's  binding 
himself  over  to  a  paltry  form  of  belief.  Probably 
he  would  have  said,  if  pinned  down  to  statement, 
that  credulity  in  regard  to  spiritualism  was  not 
"good  form  ;  "  still,  his  motives  for  bestirring  him 
self  lay  deeper.  He  appreciated  the  dignity  of  a 
clean  habit  of  thought ;  he  knew  what  it  was  to  be 
drawn  far  out  of  his  way  by  the  affections,  but  that 
could  only  happen  when  beauty  wrought  upon  his 
senses.  In  matters  which  were  merely  affairs  of 
eye  and  judgment,  he  saw  piercingly  through  from 
premise  to  conclusion.  That  a  man  should  be  de 
ceived  by  a  showman  and  his  puppets,  when  thero 


396  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

might  be  at  the  same  hour,  round  the  next  cor 
ner,  an  exhibition  of  natural  magic  by  a  conjurer 
who  advertised  himself  as  nothing  more,  stood 
with  him  as  the  result  of  a  perverted  manner 
of  thinking.  It  was  like  drinking  ditch-water 
when  one  might  dip  his  cup  in  the  spring,  —  and 
any  man  should  be  willing  to  take  a  few  extra 
steps  in  showing  the  unlearned  and  simple  the 
way. 

Bernard  came  for  him  early  that  evening.  He, 
on  his  side,  had  a  far  greater  burden  than  that  of 
defending  his  faith.  He  was  wondering  how  he 
could  ask  news  of  Sarah,  if  Stephen  should  not 
broach  her  name  of  his  own  accord. 

She  must  still  be  away ;  he  was  sure  of  that, 
for  otherwise  Stephen  would  have  told  him.  And 
if  that  were  so,  the  mysterious  trouble  between 
them  must  have  continued.  How  could  he  bear 
knowing  nothing  of  it  or  her  ?  On  the  other  hand, 
how  could  he  force  himself  where  neither  invited 
him? 

"One  thing  must  be  understood, "said  Stephen, 
when  they  were  on  their  way  to  Riker's.  "You 
will  not,  under  any  temptation,  say  that  I  do  not 
believe.  I  saw  enough,  years  ago,  of  the  suppres 
sion  of  people  who  honestly  confessed  that  they 
went  to  investigate.  It  is  of  no  use  to  expect  a 
medium  to  meet  you  fairly." 

Bernard  acquiesced  against  his  judgment ;    he 


THE    USUAL    KE8ULT.  397 

could  have  sworn  to  Riker's  impartiality,  so  accu 
rate  are  sometimes  impressions  of  character. 

The  scene  at  Riker's  bore  its  old  aspect.  The 
regular  patrons  were  there,  with  the  usual  scatter 
ing  of  new-comers.  Mrs.  Riker,  who  had  contin 
ued  to  develop  as  a  medium,  was  somewhat  worn 
and  apprehensive  of  look,  but  more  confident  of 
manner.  Riker  met  Bernard  with  effusion,  remem 
bering  him  as  a  staunch  believer.  Stephen  his 
glance  sharply  questioned.  The  younger  man's 
carelessness  of  manner  had  redoubled,  at  which 
Bernard  wondered,  contrasting  it  with  his  heat  and 
earnestness  of  the  morning.  The  stranger  had  evi 
dently  come  to  be  amused,  to  pass  an  hour,  thought 
Riker,  after  exchanging  some  sentences  with  him, 
and  finding  him  good-humored  and  indifferent.  He 
decided  that  it  might  not  be  worth  while  to  con 
sider  him  especially,  nor  to  take  any  precautions 
against  his  possible  interference.  This  was  not, 
indeed,  a  night  when  Riker  should  have  been  put 
to  the  test ;  half  his  mind  was  busy  with  conjec 
tures  as  to  what  might  be  happening  in  Coventry, 
:md  it  is  an  established  fact  that  mediumship  be 
tween  two  worlds  demands  the  undivided  atten 
tion. 

Various  versions  of  what  followed  can  be  read 
by  overlooking  files  of  the  daily  papers ;  one  ex 
posure  of  materializing  is  very  like  another,  the 
means  at  the  command  of  most  mediums  being 


398  FOOLS  or  NATURE. 

identical.  Several  figures  appeared  in  the  door 
way  of  the  cabinet ;  as  many  believers  went  for 
ward  to  receive  greetings  of  more  or  less  cordial 
ity,  until,  in  some  confusion  of  changing  places, 
Stephen,  unobserved,  took  the  end  of  the  row  of 
seats.  Gradually  the  spirits  became  bolder,  and 
one  advanced  along  the  line  of  chairs,  when  Ste 
phen  suddenly  stepped  forward  and  threw  his  arms 
about  her.  Confusion  reigned ;  Stephen,  throttled, 
beset  by  blows,  —  for  Hiker  had  rushed  upon  him 
with  the  desperation  of  a  prophet  who  hears  the 
crashing  of  his  fair  reputation,  —  Stephen  held  his 
head  down  and  clung  to  his  captive.  Bernard  had 
consented  to  do  his  part  in  turning  up  the  light, 
and,  though  he  pressed  his  way  to  it  with  all  pos 
sible  haste,  chaos  seemed  to  have  had  its  way  for 
hours  before  he  succeeded.  At  its  first  truth-telling 
disclosure,  believers  and  indifferent  alike  ranged 
themselves  on  the  side  of  Stephen ;  the  reality 
was  too  patent.  The  most  unworldly  eyes  could 
scarcely  resist  the  evidence  presented  by  the  tab 
leau,  —  Stephen,  now  with  one  arm  free,  defend 
ing  himself  from  Riker's  assault,  while  the  other 
held  Mrs.  Hiker,  clothed  in  a  loose  white  tunic. 
She  had  proved  accomplice,  too,  Riker  thought 
with  rage,  by  fainting  at  the  wrong  moment.  If 
she  had  kept  her  senses  and  muscles  under  her  own 
control,  he  was  sure  she  might  have  cleared  her 
self.  A  murmur  arose  among  the  spectators ; 


THE    USUAL    RESULT.  399 

some  one  laid  a   hand  upon  Hiker's  collar  and 
jerked  him  aside.     He  had  lost  his  disciples. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  alarmed  the  spirit,"  said 
Stephen,  depositing  her  upon  the  sofa.  "Will 
some  one  bring  a  glass  of  water? —  You  see?"  he 
added,  in  a  quick  aside  to  Bernard,  "you  recog 
nize  the  ghost  ?  " 

Bernard  could  scarcely  articulate  ;  his  open  eyes 
and  mouth  struck  Stephen  with  a  sense  of  amuse 
ment,  and  were  sufficient  evidence  of  his  acceptance 
of  the  testimony.  Some  one  was  working  over 
Mrs.  Riker,  and  her  husband  was  haranguing  the 
knot  about  him,  interrupted  by  indignant  denials 
and  repetitions. 

"Let  us  go,"  whispered  Stephen.  "Slip  out, 
and  I'll  follow." 

Their  escape  was  managed  as  quickly  as  con 
ceived,  and  Hiker  was  left  to  face  his  patrons,  who 
felt  a  double  grief  in  having  lost  the  hero  of  the 
hour.  Still,  it  was  unanimously  decided  that  he 
must  be  a  newspaper  reporter,  and  that  his  account 
might  be  bought  in  the  morning  for  the  sum  of 
two  cents. 

"Bah!"  said  Stephen,  shaking  himself,  when 
they  reached  the  clear  night  air.  "  Dirty  sort  of 
business,  isn't  it?  The  worst  thing  about  placing 
yourself  in  a  genuine  row  is  that  you  feel,  when 
all  is  over,  the  entire  responsibility  of  it.  I  could 
swear  it  was  I  who  played  the  ghost,  instead  of 


400  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

that  poor  woman.  No,  I  can't  ride  down ;  my 
coat  seems  to  be  torn." 

Bernard  was  absolutely  silent  on  the  walk  home, 
and  Stephen,  accurately  interpreting  his  mood, 
was  only  amused.  Bernard  was  neither  ashamed 
of  his  false  gods,  nor  doubtful  that  he  had  seen  the 
failure  of  their  test ;  he  was  simply  bewildered. 
Possibly  his  frame  of  mind  bore  some  relation  to 
that  of  the  child  who  discovers  the  inner  mechan 
ism  of  his  kaleidoscope.  He  only  said  at  parting, 
"I  shall  be  round  to-morrow,"  leaving  Stephen  to 
literally  wash  his  hands  of  the  affair. 

Next  morning  Bernard  appeared  as  he  was  set 
ting  out  for  the  office.  "I  am  greatly  obliged," 
was  his  greeting,  half  awkwardly  given.  No  one 
can  resign  even  a  pewter  god  with  dignity. 

"  About  the  ghost  ?  Not  at  all.  I  only  hope 
she  is  in  better  spirits  this  morning." 

"It  throws  the  whole  thing  over  for  me.  I 
never  shall  even  look  into  it  again.  I  own  I  am 
relieved  ;  it  isn't  comfortable  to  feel  the  invisible 
at  your  elbow." 

"No,  especially  as  you've  no  guarantee  that  it 
isn't  the  devil ! "  Stephen  was  inwardly  as  much 
amused  at  Bernard's  complete  denial  as  at  his 
former  partisanship.  Still,  it  was  too  desirable  a 
state  of  mind  to  be  disturbed  by  insisting  on  a  wide 
embrace  of  evidence. 


THE    USUAL    RESULT.  401 

ff  But  this  morning  I  came  chiefly  to  ask  other 
questions,"  said  Bernard. 

Stephen  was  prepared  by  intuition.  "  I  know," 
he  said.  "  About  my  wife.  I  have  been  thinking 
of  that.  It  seems  now  only  fair  that  you  should 
know  why  she  is  not  here.  I  mean  to  tell  you, 
though  not  quite  now." 

Bernard  was  silent,  his  heart  beating  faster. 
He  longed  to  hear,  yet  he  could  not  beg  Stephen 
to  go  on. 

"  I  know  she  is  well,"  Stephen  continued,  "  be 
cause,  in  any  other  case,  I  was  to  be  informed. 
She  is  still  at  Coventry.  I  will  tell  you  all  I 
know  about  it  later,  —  not  to-day.  To-night  I  go 
to  New  York.  I  shall  be  home  next  Saturday. 
Come  to  dinner  with  me  on  Sunday,  and  we  will 
talk.  You  have  not  written  to  her  this  summer?" 

"No,  I  wasn't  able,  you  know,"  answered  Ber 
nard.  "  I  wrote  to  nobody."  He  did  not  add  that 
one  deterring  impulse  had  been  the  feeling  that 
Stephen  would  not  have  wished  him  to  write.  If 
a  mysterious  something  separated  the  two,  it 
seemed  to  him  a  matter  of  delicate  scruple  that  he 
should  not  hold  constant  communication  with  her. 

Where  did  she  stand  now,  in  his  thoughts? 
Sacredly  preserved  like  a  vision,  but  at  an  infinite 
distance  from  himself.  He  had  felt,  since  the  sum 
mer  with  his  mother,  that  he  had  passed  through  a 
purification  of  body  and  mind.  The  joy  in  living, 


402  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

and  sense  of  the  honor  of  life,  which  come  with 
returning  health,  animated  him  to  the  desire  of 
pure  deeds  and  thoughts.  In  that  rapture  of  feel 
ing  new  blood  feeding  wasted  tissues,  nothing 
seemed  comparable  to  the  delight  of  noble  living. 
The  earth  bore  that  dear  and  familiar  aspect  which 
she  wears  to  eyes  which  have  been  long  closed  to 
her  by  pain,  or  exile  on  tossing  water,  and  it 
seemed  impossible  ever  again  to  regard  her  through 
such  miasmatic  vapors  of  passion.  That  homely 
family  life  at  Freeport  had  changed  the  aspect  of 
family  ties.  A  man's  wife  seemed  no  longer  the 
legitimate  object  for  even  a  concealed  passion  from 
a  second  lover,  and  he  set  himself  to  remember 
chiefly  the  dear  companionship  of  his  childhood 
with  her. 

There  was,  for  him,  a  new  heaven  and  a  new 
earth.  Through  the  changed  atmosphere  and 
clearer  sunlight,  he  must  henceforward  regard  men 
and  women  with  a  difference.  Even  Stephen, 
viewed  by  the  aid  of  an  unbiased  common  sense, 
had  ceased  bearing  the  proportions  of  a  gigantic 
insult  to  awkward  and  ugly  mankind. 


CHAPTER  XXXH. 

LEONARD   SEEKS   REFUGE 

TT7HEN  the  reporter  besieged  Biker's  house, 
the  next  morning  after  the  crisis  of  events, 
that  gentleman  had  gone,  and  no  one  was  admitted. 
Hiker  had  fled  to  Coventry  to  make  sure  of  his 
harvest  there,  leaving  his  wife  at  home  instructed 
to  communicate  with  no  one.  He  had  considered 
that  his  best  course  lay  in  bravado.  It  was  against 
probability  that  the  city  papers  should  at  once 
reach  and  influence  Coventry.  Uncle  Ben  was 
growing  weaker,  so  Len's  letters  stated,  arid 
Hiker  was  sure  that  if  he  could  stave  off  dis 
closure  until  the  final  event  should  take  place, 
and  Leonard  had  inherited  the  property,  all 
would  go  well.  They  might  even  go  abroad, 
and  establish  their  business  in  England.  With 
the  small  fortune  once  within  his  grasp,  he  did 
not  greatly  fear  the  effect  of  disclosing  his  own 
true  character  to  his  pupil.  Money  held  over 
himself  such  godlike  sway  that,  in  the  face  of 
Len's  density  to  advantages  not  honestly  attained, 
he  still  trusted  in  them  to  influence  him. 

There  came  in  Coventry  a  day  when  Sam  urged 
Dill  at  a  good  pace  —  which  she  must  privately 

403 


404  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

have  thought  was  becoming  too  habitual  —  to  his 
own  home,  where  he  found  his  mother  hastily 
doing  some  necessary  housework,  that  she  might 
return  to  Uncle  Ben's.  She  and  Henry  were 
there  constantly  now. 

"Dr.  Bright  says  she  won't  live  the  day  out," 
began  Sam.  "Ma'am,  you  must  go  down.  Mrs. 
Mann  is  white  as  a  sheet.  You  go,  an'  I'll  bring 
up  Jane  Hinckley  to  see  to  things  here." 

Aunt  Lomie  considered  a  moment  before  an 
swering,  "I  don't  know  but  I'll  go,"  which  was 
tantamount  to  consent. 

There  was  no  change  apparent  in  Uncle  Ben, 
except  such  as  lay  in  his  "  sinking ;  "  and  it  might 
be  that  he  would  live  some  days.  Leonard  was 
with  him  constantly,  and  could  do  everything 
necessary,  with  Aunt  Lomie's  place  taken  in  the 
kitchen  and  at  the  table.  He  was  conscious  of  a 
start  in  his  pulsations,  when  she  drew  him  from 
the  room  to  leave  with  him  the  needful  directions. 
It  was  not  purely  of  fear,  though  he  had  become 
accustomed  to  a  flavor  of  uneasiness  in  approach 
ing  his  old  friend.  Every  instant,  he  keenly  felt, 
proved  a  denial  of  the  demands  of  gratitude  and 
affection.  Compared  with  the  bird  of  gay  plum 
age  he  had  been  as  Professor  Leonard,  he  was  now 
but  sick  and  bedraggled. 

Aunt  Lomie  had  gone,  and  Henry  was  busy 
at  the  burns.  Len  sat  beside  the  sick  man,  feel- 


LEONARD  SEEKS  REFUGE.         405 

ing  his  own  heart  every  minute  beating  faster  and 
taster,  as  if  it  stole  pulsations  from  the  weakening- 
one  beside  it.  The  drowsy  sunshine  lay  upon 
the  floor,  neutral  and  sickly ;  the  bare  chestnut 
limbs  tapped  on  the  window  from  time  to  time, 
and,  within,  only  the  cat  stirred  in  luxurious 
stretching  and  recurling  on  the  bright  chintz 
lounge.  Len  felt  an  increasing  horror  of  every 
thing,  even  of  the  sick  man,  whose  bodily  state 
created  an  awe  and  mystery  of  its  own.  He  had 
played  too  long  with  the  supernatural ;  it  had 
done  him  service,  and  now,  like  many  another 
wary  tamed  monster,  had  turned  about  to  begin 
a  horrible  mastery.  But  the  fearful  ticking  of  the 
clock,  the  fearful  return  of  Uncle  Ben's  slow 
breathing,  suddenly  ceased  to  his  ears,  as  the 
old  man's  eyes  unclosed  and  fixed  themselves 
upon  his.  They  held  an  anxious  question.  Len 
bent  forward  to  meet  it,  knowing  well  what  it 
must  be. 

"  Maria  !  "  was  formed  by  the  feeble  lips.  Len 
hesitated ;  the  time  for  final  decision  had  come. 
He  was  unused  to  symptoms  of  illness,  but  some 
thing  assured  him  that  the  change  in  the  dear  face 
was  made  by  approaching  death.  His  haunting 
question  would  never  be  asked  again. 

He  began  speaking  clearly  and  deliberately. 
"Pa,  I've  seen  Aunt  Maria."  The  stiffening  face 
brightened,  the  gaze  grew  more  eager.  "  She  is 


406  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

very  happy,  and  she  is  waiting  for  you.  She  says 
spiritualism  is  all  true.  She  is  here  now." 

These  were  the  great  tidings  for  which  the 
passing  soul  had  longed.  Socrates  himself  at  the 
last,  assured  by  indubitable  proof  that  his  conclu 
sions  were  true,  could  have  been  no  happier.  The 
news  had  even  the  power  of  awakening  the  last 
faint  look  of  joy  in  the  peaceful  face,  before  it 
ceased  expressing  the  soul  forever.  He  was  dead. 
Len  stood  looking  at  him  with  swelling  dread,  as 
the  fact  stamped  itself  upon  his  mind .  The  remem 
brance  of  his  own  last  words  returned  upon  him 
like  an  echo,  "  She  is  here  now  !  "  and  with  a  cry 
of  fear  he  ran  from  the  house  to  find  Henry  and 
alarm  the  neighbors. 

No  one  felt  surprised  at  his  frantic  grief;  it  was 
but  additional  sign  of  his  "good-heartedness."  In 
the  midst  of  a  haste  of  preparation,  Riker  arrived. 
Len  hurried  to  him  as  to  a  deliverer,  and  with  his 
first  breath  began  confessing  his  sin.  Riker  could 
not  understand,  and  dared  not  press  him,  in  the 
shrewd  hearing  of  neighbors  who  had  flocked  in 
to  be  of  use. 

"Tell  me  about  it  by  and  by,"  he  said  quickly. 
—  "  And  so  our  dear  old  friend  has  passed  away  !  " 
he  added,  in  affectionate  sadness,  turning  to  Henry 
Wasson,  who  happened  to  stand  next  him. 

"Seems  so,"  answered  Henry,  who  had  not 
Sam's  vigor  of  utterance  and  cheerful  willingness 


LEONARD  SEEKS  REFUGE.         407 

to  speak  his  mind.  Privately  he  remembered 
Maria's  estimate  of  the  professor,  and  wished  his 
brother  were  there  to  suggest  appropriate  and 
stinging  retorts.  Henry  was  conscious  of  not  being 
equal  to  all  occasions,  unsupported  by  Sam,  but 
he  had  the  comfort  of  undeviatiug  faith  in  his  hero. 
He  was  convinced  that,  in  all  cases,  the  unim 
peachable  thing  would  have  been  done  had  Saiu 
been  present. 

Riker  lounged  about  the  rooms,  gently  sympa 
thizing  with  Leii's  loud  and  boyish  grief,  and  wiping 
his  own  eyes.  But  he  seemed  to  be  in  bad  odor, 
as  he  was  not  slow  in  observing.  The  neigh 
bors,  though  not  sharing  Henry's  prejudice,  were 
neutrally  interrogative  as  to  his  reason  for  coming 
at  all.  Presently  he  drew  Len  out  of  the  house  to 
finish  the  interrupted  confidence. 

"  I've  told  him  a  lie  ! "  the  boy  began  at  once, 
his  pink  and  white  face  scalded  and  blurred  by  tears. 
''He  looked  at  me,  and  I  told  him  I  saw  Aunt 
Maria.  I  wish  I  was  dead,  and  I'm  afraid  to  die  I  " 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Eiker,  some  rough  insolence 
appearing  in  his  manner.  He  had  not  recovered 
from  the  smart  of  the  previous  night's  disclosures. 
Surely  it  might  be  expected  that  a  man  with  a 
lost  reputation  and  problematic  future  should  visit 
his  wrath  against  circumstances  in  the  abstract  on 
some  concrete  inferior.  Men  of  a  larger  calibre 
have  been  known  to  find  relief  from  strenuous 


408  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

events  in  kicking  a  dog,  before  Riker's  day. 
"Never  mind."  You  seem  to  be  in  moderately 
good  health.  I'd  save  my  fear  of  dying  till  there 
was  a  question  of  needing  it." 

Len's  tears  ceased,  and  his  blue  eyes  took  on  wide 
astonishment.  The  words  might  have  passed  ;  the 
tone  was  a  revelation.  "  But  it's  the  last  word  I 
ever  said  to  him,"  he  continued,  presently,  bent 
on  drawing  Eiker  into  his.  own  channel  of  thought. 
"I  never  lied  before." 

His  density  grated  on  Riker,  in  his  present  ill-hu 
mor  with  the  world  ;  it  seemed  insufferable  idiocy. 

"Never  told  a  lie  in  your  life  !  "  he  laughed,  all 
unctuousness  swept  away  from  his  tone.  "You 
half-idiot !  you  fool !  you  have  lied  every  day  of 
every  year  since  I've  known  you,  and  been  paid 
for  your  lies." 

Len's  world  reeled.  The  fact  that  his  percep 
tions  were  not  of  the  most  delicate  order  rendered 
it  no  easier  for  him  to  understand  that  his  beloved 
friend  and  tutor' was  a  myth.  What  can  be  more 
bewildering  ?  You  love  and  trust,  and  Fact  turns 
her  clear  mirror  at  a  different  angle,  saying,  "  He 
never  existed." 

"You  have  taken  in  hundreds  of  people,"  Riker 
went  on,  pitilessly,  impelled  to  pass  along  with 
interest  the  flagellation  he  had  received.  "  Almost 
as  many  as  I  have.  And  then  you  come  to  me 
and  whine,  f  I  never  lied ' !  " 


LEONARD  SEEKS  REFUGE.         409 

"Don't  you  believe  in  it?  The  spirits,  —  they 
were  materialized,  —  you  did  it  yourself! " 

"  I  did  it  myself!  Yes,  I  did.  I  walked  out  of 
my  cabinet  with  a  sheet  on,  and  again  with  an 
Indian's  blanket  and  feathers.  I  taught  my  wife 
to  carry  in  with  her  enough  for  half  a  dozen  dis 
guises,  and  I  made  her  work  to  earn  her  honest 
living  as  I  earned  mine.  I'll  show  you  twenty 
places  in  the  cabinet  where  I  can  pack  a  spirit's 
entire  wardrobe,  and  the  fools  that  investigate 
may  tap  and  pry  over  them  a  week,  and  then  they 
won't  find  them." 

Len  had  grown  white  and  rigid ;  his  eyes 
searched  Hiker's  face  in  agonized  wonder.  He 
turned  suddenly  away  from  him ;  Riker  turned 
also  and  grasped  his  shoulder. 

"  Don't  go  in  there  to  make  a  fool  of  yourself," 
he  said,  harshly.  "Do  as  I  tell  you.  Take  a  walk, 
cool  yourself  off,  and  come  home  and  say  nothing. 
If  you  make  a  fuss,  I  swear  I'll  kill  you,"  he  added, 
as  a  final  preventive. 

Len  turned  obediently,  and  walked  away  through 
the  cart-path  over  the  hill.  Riker  wandered  about 
a  few  minutes  to  spend  his  irritation,  before  enter 
ing  the  house.  He  was  not  alarmed  as  to  the 
consequences  of  disclosure  ;  his  power  seemed  to 
have  narrowed  to  a  very  small  circle  about  the  boy, 
and  this  sudden  twist  had  but  tightened  the  ring. 
In  the  future,  he  could  work  to  better  advantage, 


410  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

unhampered  by  daily  subterfuge ;  possibly,  also, 
the  loss  of  the  boy's  simplicity  would  not  prove 
disastrous  to  his  powers  after  all. 

As  for  Leonard,  he  walked  steadily  on,  encom 
passed  by  fear.  He  had  been  told  that  the  whole 
system  of  spiritual  communication  was  but  fraud, 
and  so  crippled  was  his  mind  by  the  stroke  from 
Biker's  lash  that  he  could  not  separate  his  own  share 
in  the  deception  from  the  general  wrong.  He  could 
not,  at  the  moment,  have  sworn  that  he  had  ever 
seen  miraculous  sights  or  heard  the  whispers  on 
which  he  based  his  messages.  His  little  world 
was  destroyed.  Possibly  the  loss  of  intrinsic 
purity  would  not  have  driven  him  to  despair ;  no 
one  can  predict  with  much  safety  that  most  ravages 
in  the  soul  may  not  be  condoned  by  habit  and  false 
methods  of  thought.  It  was  fear  only  which  over 
threw  his  reason.  The  habit  of  believing  in  the 
presence  of  spirits  was  too  strong  to  be  easily 
broken.  His  inflamed  fancy  pictured  Uncle  Ben 
and  Maria  as  avengers  of  his  deception;  being 
dead,  they  were  unspeakably  horrible.  He  was 
afraid  to  go  back  and  afraid  to  run  away,  —  shud 
dering  at  the  thought  of  Kiker,  and  yet,  with  a 
child's  terror,  sure  that  no  distance  could  remove 
him  so  far  that  Riker  would  not  finally  reach  him. 
So  thinking  swiftly,  —  his  thoughts  like  a  mad 
progress,  a  dance  of  death,  —  he  reached  Fenn's 
Hole,  the  one  deeply  dangerous  place  in  the  little 


LEONARD  SEEKS  REFUGE.        411 

river  which  cut  Uncle  Ben's  land.  At  the  moment 
when  the  water  struck  his  eye,  a  new  thought 
flashed  upon  his  brain.  Uncle  Ben  and  Maria  had 
always  been  kind ;  wronged,  deceived,  their  mercies 
would  be  tenderer  than  Biker's  love.  The  eye 
and  the  brain  had  proposed  his  solution,  and  he 
took  it ;  Fenn's  Hole  received  him  and  his  perplex 
ity,  giving  the  one  verdict  from  which  there  is  no 
present  appeal. 


CHAPTEE  XXXIH. 

SAM  TO   THE   RESCUE. 

THE  night  came,  and  Len  had  not  returned. 
Eiker,  looking  to  him  for  countenance  in  his 
apparently  needless  stay  there,  awaited  him  with 
an  increasing  irritation.  Circumstances  seemed 
vilely  against  him.  He  was  conscious  of  clenching 
his  hands  with  the  determination  that,  when  the 
winning  side  should  be  again  his,  he  would  wreak 
certain  small  vengeances  on  the  nearest  available 
creatures.  The  house  had  settled  into  quiet,  and 
was  doubly  lonesome  without  Aunt  Lomie.  She 
had  gone  in  time  to  be  present  at  that  other  death, 
which  could  cause  no  sorrow.  Sarah  looked  up 
and  smiled  faintly  as  the  dear  old  lady  entered  the 
room.  Then  they  sat  together  waiting,  Sarah 
with  nerves  as  tensely  strained  as  if  the  tragedy 
were  about  to  begin,  instead  of  wavering  to  its  close. 
The  flickering  breath  ceased. 

She  shuddered  as  Aunt  Lomie's  grave  voice 
broke  the  stillness  telling  Sam,  at  the  door,  to 
summon  a  neighbor. 

"You  don't  feel  bad,  I  hope,"  said  the  old  lady, 
as  she  came  back.  "  You've  done  all  anybody  coulcl 

412 


SAM    TO    THE    RESCUE.  413 

do  for  her.  She  was  a  poor  sufferin*  creatur',  but 
now  it  don't  signify." 

What  should  be  done  with  Sarah  ?  When  that 
house,  also,  assumed  the  order  and  stillness 
brought  by  death,  it  was  Sara  who  took  the  reins 
of  government.  It  is  a  pity  that  it  should  be  so 
chronicled,  but  it  is  nevertheless  true  that  he  told 
a  great  many  merciful  lies  in  the  following  days. 

"  She  can't  go  through  one  more  thing,"  he  said 
to  his  mother.  "  Look  at  her  eyes !  Hear  her 
talk  !  She'll  be  crazy.  Just  get  her  away  from 
this  house,  an'  fix  her  up." 

But  Mrs.  Mann  would  not  be  taken  away.  She 
quietly  insisted  on  remaining  till  the  next  morning, 
when  the  last  prayer  would  be  made  for  the  depart 
ed  soul,  and  the  body  would  be  sent  to  its  home  in 
the  West.  "I  will  lie  down,"  she  promised  of  her 
own  accord.  "I  won't  be  foolish,  but  I  want  it  to 
seem  like  other  people."  Nobody  understood  the 
last  reason.  It  was  true  that  she  did  feel  a  desire 
that  this  unloved  dead  should  receive  to  the  last  all 
the  semblances  of  affection  which  might  justly  have 
belonged  to  her  had  she  not  chosen  to  throw  off 
family  bonds. 

So  Uncle  Ben  had  died  !  She  looked  at  them 
when  they  told  her,  with  the  tears  welling  up  in 
such  loving  eyes  that  Sam  felt  it  would  be  easy  for 
him  also  to  cry.  Yet  she  was  glad ;  the  dear  old 
man  must  be  safer  in  another  life  among  different 


414  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

conditions,  than  beset  by  the  cajoleries  of  the  pres 
ent  world. 

When  the  three  were  left  after  the  funeral  ser 
vice,  —  for  the  cordial  neighbors  were  not  bidden 
to  the  ceremony,  —  Sam  delegated  all  details  of 
closing  the  house  to  an  acquaintance,  and  himself 
took  his  mother  and  Sarah  home.  She  had  ex 
pected  to  occupy  her  old  room  at  Uncle  Ben's,  but 
the  staunch  Sam  had  forbidden  it.  . 

"There's  everybody  there,"  he  said,  vaguely, 
"mediums  an*  such.  It  ain't  as  it  was.  You 
couldn't  even  see  him.  (Lord  forgive  me !) " 
which  was  his  Protestant  equivalent  for  crossing 
his  sinful  self. 

But  the  morning  had  also  come  without  the 
appearance  of  the  missing  Len.  Riker  had  grown 
apprehensive,  and  the  neighbors,  even  more  im 
pressed  with  Len's  queerness  than  he,  prophesied 
evil.  The  verdict  was  unanimous  that  he  had 
"  made  way  with  himself."  The  professor,  viewed 
askance  and  left  severely  to  himself,  longed  to 
scout  the  notion,  but  nobody  asked  his  opinion, 
and  he  was  silent  from  policy. 

"Who  see  him  last?"  queried  Sam,  the  one  of 
many  resources.  Riker  felt  it  best  to  confess 
that  he  had  seen  him  follow  the  cart-path  over 
the  hill.  Sam  did  not  waste  words  in  conjecture, 
but  merely  saying,  "He  al'ays  was  a  queer  one," 
signaled  Henry  to  follow  him,  and  left  the  house. 


SAM    TO    THE    RESCUE.  415 

"  You  don't  think  ?  "  suggested  Henry,  interrog 
atively,  as  they  took  the  hill  path. 

"  Shouldn't  wonder, n  answered  Sam.  "  Shouldn't 
be  surprised  at  anything." 

Neither  had  thought  where  they  were  to  go ; 
it  was  only  an  undefined  impulse  that  bade  them 
follow,  —  and  Fenn's  Hole  was  near  their  path. 
The  sequence  of  events  forms  such  an  obstinate 
chain  that  it  is  unusual  for  every  link  to  be  de 
stroyed.  The  man  had  sunk  ;  his  hat  had  floated 
and  caught  in  a  net-work  of  fallen  branches. 
Henry  was  sure  that  if  he  had  been  alone  he 
must  have  turned  coward  and  fled  to  tell  the  news  ; 
but  Sam's  own  unconsciousness  of  any  course  but 
the  straightforward  one  could  but  inspire  courage. 

"  Seem's  a  pretty  sure  thing  what's  become  of 
him,"  said  he,  peering  forward  into  the  still  water. 
"  Wonder  what  he  done  it  for.  I  didn't  know  he 
set  so  much  by  Uncle  Ben  as  that.  Good  Lord 
above  ! "  A  white  gleam  caught  his  eye ;  that 
dead  sickness  of  a  hand  leering  up  through  the 
glassy  surface. 

With  no  more  words  he  waded  in ;  that  was  not 
sufficient,  and  he  returned  to  take  off  his  coat 
and  boots  and  dive,  bringing  up  — what  ?  A  sorry 
object  enough,  pitiful  indeed  for  our  regard  who 
believe  our  proud  selves  to  be  the  incomparable 
work  of  creation.  They  laid  it  on  the  bank, 
and  with  one  accord  started  running,  Sam  because 


416  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

the  water  had  been  like  ice  and  he  dared  not 
delay,  and  Henry  from  force  of  example.  The 
alarm  given,  there  were  men  and  women  enough 
to  help ;  and  again  death  was  brought  into  the  old 
house.  Little  Coventry  was  almost  bursting  with 
its  sense  of  dramatic  climax.  A  mystery  had 
grown  up  in  its  very  midst,  —  nay,  two.  A  stran 
ger  had  died  within  its  limits,  and  another  stranger 
had  served  her  in  her  illness  for  no  known  reason. 
And  now  suicide  from  grief  had  followed  the  death 
of  an  old  man  who  was  "  queer,"  —  as  doubtless 
some  of  the  more  moderate  contemporaries  of 
Jesus  may  also  have  considered  Him. 

Riker,  calm  of  demeanor  and  faultless  in  ap 
parel,  was  coming  from  the  house  when  the  sad 
procession  reached  it.  He  had  concluded  to  bear 
the  shocks  of  fortune  with  more  equanimity,  and 
had  been  able  to  find  some  comfort  in  the  luxuri 
ance  of  his  beard  and  the  whiteness  of  his  hands, 
which  would  doubtless  again  assist  him  to  some 
eminence  of  reputation.  Nobody  regarded  him, 
but  the  instant  meaning  01  the  burden  they  carried 
struck  him  back  with  a  shock.  He  grasped  the 
side  of  the  door,  falling  against  it,  ashen. 

Some  one  pushed  him  aside,  and  the  little  knot 
passed  in.  What  they  carried  seemed  like  a  wel 
come  guest,  —  one  whose  presence  must  bar  the 
portals  of  whatever  abode  it  found  against  his 
entrance.  There  were  relics  enough  of  the  com- 


SAM   TO   THE   RESCUE.  417 

mon  theology  in  his  mind  to  prompt  the  flashing 
of  the  question  whether  it  would  sometime  in  the 
future  close  against  him  those  heavenly  regions  on 
whose  possession  every  man  in  some  measure 
counts.  Into  what  could  the  confused  blending  of 
emotions  have  been  separated,  —  remorse,  a  pang 
of  affection  for  the  boy,  rage  at  the  escape  of  a 
victim?  Whatever  it  was,  passed  quickly;  the 
habit  of  self-control  proved  his  friend.  He  went 
in,  joining  the  group  of  excited  talkers  about  the 
kitchen  stove. 

"  Nat'ral  enough,"  said  one  voice.  "  He  was  fond 
o'  the  old  man,  an'  bein'  sort  o'  half-witted,  it  upset 
him." 

"That  ain't  all,"  said  another,  with  meaning. 
"  There's  monkery  at  the  bottom,  depend  on't." 
And  just  then,  Biker  walking  up  to  the  group,  an 
uncomfortable  silence  settled  down,  made  express 
ive  indeed  by  nods  and  half  glances. 

"  I  have  noticed,"  began  the  professor,  sadly, 
"I  could  but  be  aware,  seeing  him  so  much,  that 
our  poor  young  friend's  mind  was  affected.  Of 
course  I  said  nothing  about  it  to  Mr.  Adams,  but 
he  was  often  a  care  tome."  Still  silence,  broken, 
when  it  had  become  too  prolonged  for  even  that 
stolid  rural  composure,  by  a  woman's  voice. 

"Maybe  it's  well  he's  gone,  if  Uncle  Ben  didn't 
think  to  provide  for  him  by  will.  It's  hard  enough 
to  earn  your  livin'  when  you've  got  all  your  wits, 


418  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

an'  if  he  wa'n't  quite  right  I  do'  know  what  he 
could  ha'  done,  unless  Lomie'd  took  him  in." 

Kiker  turned  towards  the  woman,  and  stared  at 
her  with  a  look  which  arrested  her  open  mouth  and 
eyes,  fixing  the  latter  upon  himself.  His  was  but 
the  look  of  an  intense  introspection ;  she  had 
merely  suggested  the  supreme  fact  for  him  in  all  this 
drama  of  mistakes  and  sorrow.  It  was  not  merely 
his  pupil  and  Uncle  Ben's  friend  who  had  died ;  it 
was  the  heir  of  Uncle  Ben's  property  and  Eiker's 
prospective  ward.  Another  shabby  trick  had 
beeu  played  him ;  again  the  victim  had  out 
witted  him.  Why  that  fact  had  not  suggested 
itself  first  of  all,  it  is  difficult  to  say ;  it  must  be 
remembered,  however,  that  Riker  was  unused  to 
the  buffets  of  fortune,  and  it  took  a  very  plain, 
bare  statement  of  facts  to  convince  him  that  there 
was  nothing  further  to  gain.  When  he  next  spoke, 
his  suavity  of  manner  was  gone. 

"  Can  you  carry  me  to  the  depot?  "  he  asked  of 
Henry. 

"Can't,"  said  that  young  man,  evincing  no  great 
regret.  Riker  turned  to  one  and  another  in  the 
room  and  made  the  same  request.  Unwelcome  as 
he  was,  not  one  man  among  them  would  allow  him 
to  ride  behind  his  horse. 

"An' I  don't  know,"  came  Aunt  Lomie's  even 
voice,  as  she  paused  on  her  way  through  the  room 
and  caught  the  dialogue.  "  I  don't  know  as  it's 


SAM   TO   THE    RESCUE.  419 

fittin'  for  anybody  to  go  away  now.  Tears  to  me 
there's  always  some  kind  of  a  trial  when  anybody's 
made  way  with  himself." 

"  So  there  is  ! "  came  in  such  hoarse  and  ready 
response  that  Riker  was  again  tempted  to  launch 
a  wholesale  curse.  Unfamiliar  with  country  ways, 
he  was  not  sure  that  he  might  not  be  detained  and 
lynched  for  complicity  in  Leonard's  disagreeable 
act.  But  in  some  attracting  of  the  general  atten 
tion  to  another  object  than  himself,  he  slipped 
away  and  walked  to  the  railroad  station,  where  he 
took  the  train  for  Boston. 

It  seemed  to  Sam  at  this  stage  of  the  proceed 
ings,  not  that  the  last  miserable  news  should  be 
broken  gently  to  Mrs.  Mann,  but  that  she  should 
flee  from  it  altogether.  He  took  his  mother  and 
Henry  into  the  plot,  and  though  they  did  not 
see  her  great  need  of  consideration  as  he  had  done, 
they  were  yet  willing  to  be  guided  by  the  head  of 
the  family.  Unless  she  should  insist  ongoing  out 
and  thus  seeing  other  people,  there  was  no  need 
of  her  knowing  yet  what  had  happened.  And 
while  his  mother  was  baking  the  biscuits  for  tea, 
he  dared  broach  what  seemed  to  him  a  most  auda 
cious  plan. 

"Mrs.  Mann,"  he  began,  stroking  old  Blue  with 
exceeding  zeal,  which  Blue  mistook  for  tribute 
paid  her  charms,  purring  accordingly,  "if  I  was 
you,  I'd  go  away  from  here  for  a  visit." 


420  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

The  silence  that  followed  was  so  long  that  Sam 
had  time  to  wish  himself  at  various  corners  of  the 
earth.  It  is  true  that  she  had  not  dared  to  think 
of  her  husband  and  all  that  their  release  implied. 
The  weary  course  of  events  seemed  to  have  been 
dragging  on  so  long  that,  having  reached  its  end, 
she  possibly  needed  some  electrifying  shock  to 
bring  her  into  fitness  for  great  joy.  This  sugges 
tion  of  her  home  proved  the  shock.  "  Why  ?  "  was 
all  she  said,  however,  and  though  her  tone  was 
very  soft,  it  told  nothing,  and  her  hand  shielded 
her  face  from  the  firelight.  "Why?" 

"Well,"  answered  Sam,  relieved,  "you  don't 
look  well.  You've  lost  sleep  for  a  good  long  spell, 
an'  you've  took  her  sickness  hard.  Now  seems 
to  me  what  you  need  to  do  is  to  get  away  from 
here." 

"Yes,  I  shall  go  soon,  immediately  after  the 
funeral.  I  shall  go  home."  She  had  begun  to  say 
"  to  my  husband,"  but  changed  the  phrase.  She  had 
a  foolish  fancy  that  the  word  should  first  leave  her 
lips  when  Stephen  was  by  to  hear. 

"Now  why  not  before?"  suggested  Sam,  per 
suasively.  "Why  not  right  away?  There's  no 
need  o'  tellin'  you  we'd  keep  you  till  Gabriel 
blowed,  if  'twas  best  for  you.  But  go  on  a  visit 
an'  then  come  back.  Now  there  never  was  a  fu 
neral  that  needs  us  any  less  than  uncle's.  Can't 
you  hear  how  he  used  to  talk  about  his  poor  old 


SAM   TO   THE   RESCUE.  421 

body,  an'  how  he'd  laugh  at  us  for  payin*  much 
attention  to  it  ?  " 

Sarah  smiled  in  loving  recollection,  but  shook 
her  head.  Uncle  Ben  might  not  care,  but  she  did 
care  to  do  him  reverence.  And  so  Sam  told  her 
the  last  pitiful  act  of  the  drama,  in  as  simple  a 
way  as  his  rare  common  sense  suggested.  Know 
ing  no  more  than  he  of  the  miserable  under-plot 
which  had  determined  the  deed,  she  saw  in  it  not 
only  a  token  of  the  boy's  dog-like  devotion  to  his 
friend,  but  proof  that  he  was  not  a  responsible 
agent  in  his  deception.  But,  to  her  after  surprise, 
and  possibly  self-reproach,  it  did  not  waken  much 
excitement  in  her.  External  tragedy,  the  con 
vulsions  of  nations,  would  have  been  dwarfed 
beside  the  wish  that  kept  her  heart  beating  like  a 
runner's,  — the  wish  to  see  her  husband.  Having 
reached  the  end  of  her  sentence,  for  the  time 
being  she  cast  remembrance  of  its  cause  away 
from  her,  and  began  to  live  from  the  moment  that 
had  parted  them.  Aunt  Lomie  said  she  was 
ff  all  nerved  up  "  from  her  past  experience  ;  but  it 
is  probably  true  that  the  girl's  fine  organism  could 
have  borne  a  greater  strain  than  that  without 
yielding,  had  not  that  of  anticipation  been  ready 
to  add  its  force. 

"Could  it  be  to-night,  Sam?"  she  said,  after 
they  had  come  home  from  laying  Uncle  Ben  and 
Leonard  away  to  become  earth.  "  Could  I  go  to 


422  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

Boston  to-night?  My  trunk  is  packed,  and  —  oh, 
if  I  could  go  to-night ! " 

Sam  went,  with  the  same  zeal  with  which  he 
would  have  put  a  girdle  round  the  earth  had  she 
so  commanded,  to  put  on  Dill's  harness,  who, 
clever  horse,  thought  of  her  late  excursions  in 
search  of  Doctor  Bright,  and  pricked  up  her  ears. 
She  was  driven  at  a  smart  trot  to  the  station,  for 
Sam  wished  to  say  his  farewells  and  be  done  with 
them  as  soon  as  possible.  It  is  no  light  matter, 
when  a  goddess  leaves  your  house  where  she  has 
chanced  to  sojourn,  and  goes  back  to  her  own 
bright  regions.  But  Sam's  words  of  parting  were 
brief,  and  even  gruff;  he  had  no  blank  verse  in 
which  to  couch  his  feelings.  When  he  reached 
home  that  night,  however,  he  felt  that  life  would 
not  be  quite  desolate  so  long  as  mothers  proved 
so  satisfactory.  Aunt  Lomie's  eyes  were  very 
bright  and  blue,  and  she  said,  — 

"  I  only  hope  she'll  remember  what  I  told  her,  — 
if  so  be  that  she  ever  wants  a  home,  to  come 
here." 

Sarah's  heart  outran  the  magic  horse.  What 
would  he  be  doing?  She  pictured  him  sitting, 
the  light  falling  on  his  bright  hair,  the  face  —  it 
must  surely  have  gained  some  lines  of  pain,  in 
waiting  for  her —  turned  to  the  fire,  reading  there 
no  hint  of  her  coming.  The  possibility  of  his 


SAM    TO    THE    RESCUE.  423 

absence  did  strike  her,  but  she  thrust  it  aside, 
ready  to  cry  passionately  that  she  must  die  if  she 
did  not  find  him.  So  very  strangely  are  we 
made !  Had  there  come  no  reprieve,  she  might 
have  endured  a  lifetime  of  exile ;  now  that  the 
days  were  ended,  she  became  at  once  a  child  cry 
ing  that  joy  should  not  escape  her. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

AT   HOME. 

AlTHEN  Stephen  came  home  from  his  stay  in 
New  York,  he  found  on  the  hall  table  a 
note  from  Linora,  couched  in  her  own  character 
istic  phraseology.  She  was  well  and  happy,  as 
were  the  other  members  of  the  household.  It  was 
surprising  to  her  that  a  severely  reformatory  at 
mosphere  could  prove  so  refreshing.  She  and 
Mrs.  Phebe  were  making  shirts  for  a  family  of 
eight  motherless  boys  whom  the  latter  had  dis 
covered, —  that  is,  Mrs.  Phebe  was  making  the 
shirts  while  Linora  unfolded  to  her,  meantime,  a 
scheme  of  philanthropy  to  which  she  had  some 
thought  of  devoting  herself.  Philanthropy  seemed 
a  very  fascinating  subject,  more  so,  indeed,  than 
spiritualism.  And,  to  conclude,  she  longed  to 
hear  from  Sarah,  and  was  to  them  both  a  most 
worthless  but  faithful  friend. 

Stephen  read  the  note  as  he  went  slowly  up 
stairs,  smiling  as  his  mind  carried  him  to  the 
writer,  and  supplied  her  words  with  dramatic  ac 
cents.  "There's  a  great  deal  of  good  in  her,"  he 
was  thinking.  "  I  suppose  it's  just  as  truly  good 
as  if  it  didn't  exist  in  that  latent  way." 

424 


AT  HOME.  425 

The  little  warm  room,  clothed  in  reds,  was 
lighted,  and  as  he  reached  the  threshold  —  his 
wife  was  there.  She  had  heard  his  step,  and  was 
standing  almost  on  tiptoe,  winged  for  flight  to 
him.  Let  the  Creator  of  our  flesh  be  thanked  that 
there  is  such  joy  and  peace  in  human  warmth  and 
contact;  only  the  touch  of  hands  and  lips  can 
soothe  the  great  joys  of  meeting. 

Could  it  be  that  there  was  some  vague,  unrec 
ognized  disappointment  for  Stephen,  when  he 
could  put  her  far  enough  away  to  think  of  her, 
that  she  had  denied  her  ideals  and  come  to  him 
through  force  of  love  ?  Whether  it  was  that  she 
felt  the  doubt  at  its  birth  in  his  mind  or  not,  she 
cried  in  quick  reassurance  : 

"  It  is  right,  dear ;  it  is  right.  There  is  no  one 
between  us  I " 

"There  never  was,"  he  said,  obstinately  recur 
ring  to  his  old  ground. 

She  told  him  the  story  briefly,  with  pitiful,  ten 
der  words,  and  he  sat  listening  in  great  wonder 
that  it  could  all  happen  while  he  had  lived  quietly 
on,  with  no  hint  from  love's  clairvoyance.  The 
result  of  it  all  was,  and  always  continues  to  be, 
a  conviction  on  his  part  that  his  wife  is  not  only 
an  angel  according  to  conjugal  metaphor,  but  that 
she  is  literally  of  even  finer  clay  than  that  appropri 
ated  to  the  race  of  good  and  lovely  women.  That 
she  had  loved  her  enemy,  served  to  lift  her  into 


426  FOOLS   OF   NATURE. 

the  region  of  those  ministrants  who  are  said  to 
devote  themselves  to  mortal  needs  with  impartial 
care.  For  Sarah,  that  view  of  the  subject  has 
some  soreness  ;  she  can  but  feel  that  he  gives  her 
the  credit  which  rightfully  belongs  to  the  influ 
ences  of  softening  circumstances.  She  had  only 
responded  to  the  suggestions  of  external  needs, 
disregarding  which  she  must  have  held  herself 
forever  ignoble. 

After  all,  how  sweetly  commonplace  it  was  to 
see  her  in  her  own  chair  again,  to  hear  her  step 
and  voice !  Except  for  the  great  hunger  still  in 
his  heart  which  uttered  jealous  complaint  even 
when  she  left  him  to  go  into  another  room,  he 
might  have  forgotten  that  she  had  ever  been  away. 
It  would  seem  that  happiness  must  be  the  natural 
condition  of  the  soul ;  how,  otherwise,  could  it  so 
serenely  sink  into  the  ways  of  peace  when  that  is 
permitted?  Stephen  henceforth  abandoned  him 
self  to  a  strange  serenity.  It  was,  to  be  sure,  an 
audacious  state  of  mind,  but  he  was  convinced  that 
they  had  once  for  all  eaten  their  bitter  bread. 
Now  the  powers  above  must,  if  only  from  econo 
my,  give  them  some  time  to  grow  and  heal  the 
hurts  contracted  in  past  struggling. 

When  Bernard  came  next  day,  very  serious  in 
anticipation  of  Stephen's  story,  he  found  himself 
rather  at  a  loss,  to  be  met  by  glorified  faces  and 


AT   HOME.  427 

voices  containing  that  fulness  of  joy  which  is  one 
expression  of  music. 

"  I  have  come  home,  and  I  shall  be  happy  for 
ever,"  said  Sarah,  when  Stephen  left  them  alone. 
"Is  that  enough?" 

"Yes  ;  the  world  seems  a  very  different  place. 
It  was  a  good  deal  changed  before,  but  I  find  now 
that  I  needed  to  know  you  were  happy." 

So  no  questions  were  ever  asked,  and  no  ex 
planations  given.  After  certain  great  convulsions, 
such  as  the  nearness  of  moral  or  physical  death 
felt  by  these  two,  the  small  curiosities  of  life  seem 
of  very  slight  importance.  Ah,  but  it  is  a  pity 
that  we  should  so  often  need  avalanches  to  teach 
our  souls  to  build  firmly  ! 

They  talked  over  the  western  plan,  the  three 
together,  and  Stephen  finally  bethought  himself 
of  Linora's  note,  which  he  read  aloud.  Bernard, 
in  spite  of  his  new  composure,  could  not  yet  hear 
her  name  without  wincing,  but  he  took  it  bravely 
enough,  and  was  able  afterwards  to  laugh  at  him 
self  for  retaining  the  wounds  of  vanity  longer  than 
any  more  dignified  hurts. 

"  I  should  like  her,  by  and  by,  to  visit  us,"  said 
Sarah.  "And,  Bernard, — I  meant  to  say  it  be 
fore,  —  let  me  have  your  little  sister  here  for  a  day 
before  you  go.  Then  when  we  are  once  acquainted, 
Stephen  and  I  can  invite  her  here  and  feel  as  if  we 
got  a  little  nearer  you  in  your  western  wilds." 


428  FOOLS    OF   NATURE. 

So  Peace  was  born,  and  was  well  pleased  with 
her  home.  Guarded  by  her  and  Love,  the  great 
white  goddess,  could  the  home  itself  be  anything 
but  pure  and  fair  to  whomsoever  dwelt  in  it  or 
entered  it? 

The  discomfiture  of  the  wicked  is  sometimes  not 
as  inviting  a  subject  to  us,  the  more  indifferent  of 
modern  times,  as  to  the  righteous  psalmist.  We 
are  conscious  of  some  soft-hearted  commiseration 
in  hearing  that  Biker  found  one  resting-place  after 
another  desolated  at  his  approach.  When  he 
reached  Boston  that  night,  it  was  to  find  that  his 
wife  had  fled,  taking  the  goodly  hoard  of  money 
in  the  house,  and  leaving  him  but  fifty  dollars. 
Like  many  timid  and  downtrodden  people,  when 
she  did  revolt,  Mrs.  Biker  accomplished  it  with  a 
wholesale  thoroughness  which  was  astonishing  to 
those  acquainted  with  her  feeble  power  of  will. 
Biker,  in  deep  disgust,  there  made  a  vow  that  he 
would  never  seek  her.  She  had  proved  too  unre 
liable  an  investment  to  pay  for  the  discipline  neces 
sarily  expended  on  her.  He  gave  up  his  house 
forthwith,  and  went  to  another  great  city,  where 
he  took  more  humble  rooms,  and  began  again  the 
exercise  of  his  profession  under  a  new  name.  It 
is  a  sad  fact  that  it  can  almost  always  be  said  of  a 
medium  whose  tricks  are  exposed,  that  he  is  able 
to  gull  a  new  set  of  believers  without  delay.  Nay, 


AT   HOME.  429 

such  have  been  known  to  continue  the  deception 
of  their  previous  disciples,  after  trumping  up 
some  story  of  having  for  that  one  time  yielded  to 
fraud,  because  the  influences  proved  inharmonious 
and  the  spirits  had  been  unable  honestly  to  mate 
rialize.  The  wholly  unscrupulous  are  not  often 
obliged  to  confess  that  their  lives  have  failed,  as 
they  count  failure  and  success.  The  punishment 
for  them  must  sometime  come  in  the  opening  of 
the  soul's  eye  to  the  ravages  wrought  where  it 
might  have  worked  only  good. 

Of  course  the  story  of  any  group  of  people  goes 
on  indefinitely.  One  could  tell  how  Bernard  grew 
at  last  into  a  strong  manhood,  how  he  married  a 
wife,  —  and  the  place  and  time  of  finding  her 
would -make  another  novel, —  and  how  he  sent 
eastward  a  little  book  of  verses  that  has  been 
greatly  praised,  as  containing  the  sweetness  and 
strength  of  the  western  air,  and  a  flavor  of  hope 
and  joy  in  living,  that  some  greater  modern  poets 
have  lacked.  One  might  also  tell  how  Mary  be 
came  a  sturdy  little  school-teacher,  a  great  favorite 
with  Mrs.  Mann,  with  whom  she  spends  her  winter 
vacations.  And  of  all  lengthy  psychological 
studies,  what  longer  or  more  complicated  one 
could  be  made  than  of  the  various  emotions  of  the 
Coventry  people  in  considering  the  stirring  events 
there?  For  some  of  them  they  never  understood, 
and  have  discussed  them  ever  since,  by  winter  fire- 


430  FOOLS   OF  NATURE. 

sides  and  in  long  summer  afternoons.  It  is  quite  as 
well  for  them,  however,  that  such  past  history 
should  be  theirs,  for  it  would  seem  that  nothing 
has  ever  happened  since. 

That  must  be  amended,  however.  Last  summer 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mann  boarded  some  weeks  with  Sam 
Wasson  and  his  wife,  who  live  in  Uncle  Ben's 
house.  It  was  Stephen  who  proposed  the  plan, 
and  insisted  on  carrying  it  out,  in  order,  he  said, 
to  take  the  taste  of  those  sad  months  from  his 
wife's  memory;  to  force  her  to  remember  the 
place  as  one  where  he  and  she  together  —  lovers 
still  and  always  —  wandered  and  talked  through 
sweet  summer  hours.  He  is  not  willing  that  there 
should  be  a  phase  of  her  life  which  he  has  not 
shared. 

And  so  they  visited  one  after  another  of  the 
landmarks  remaining  from  her  exile  there.  They 
had  even  pitiful  thoughts  and  words  for  the  strange 
boy  who  sleeps  near  Uncle  Ben.  His  was  a  life 
they  could  not  understand,  but  being  stunted  and 
unfortunate,  it  carried  its  own  appeal. 


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